


Zero discipline

by GarGoyl



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bribery, Crack, Drama, Gang warfare, Gun Violence, Love, M/M, Organized Crime, Setup, Shameless Smut, Tino is the Reaper, Vodka, Weapons, but we all know that, dirty cops, no respect for the law, zero discipline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-03-15 04:47:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13605846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GarGoyl/pseuds/GarGoyl
Summary: "Tears streamed freely from those beautiful, large lilac eyes and the gun pointed at Berwald’s head wavered ever so slightly. ‘I’m sorry Ber… I’m not going back to prison’. And to think that all detective Oxenstierna had planned was to do his job". SuFin drama, love, mobsters and a whole fucking arsenal. I own nothing but my own twisted mind. Rating will go up!





	1. Saturday morning Vodka

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Strudelmugel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strudelmugel/gifts).



**SATURDAY MORNING VODKA**

A/N – Hello everyone! So here I am, back with a new fic, because it’s not like I promised myself to stop working on more than one fic at a time (and this is the fucking _third_!!!) But damn, work is piling up on me so the only survival solution is to write a fic with loads of guns. Yeah, and my muses were determined to mess up with me yet again and decided that it’s this fic I’m writing this week or nothing at all. So enjoy!

_Sadiq Adnan – Turkey_

_Natalya  – Belarus_

_Yekaterina - Ukraine_

* * *

 

 _‘If you two still have nothing on the Italians until the end of next week, you might as well turn in your badge!’_ Chief Inspector Adnan had grumbled, before slamming the door of his and Kohler’s office. He hadn’t really meant it, obviously, but the words had stuck to detective Oxenstierna just as much as the growing frustration they were all feeling towards the current mission. He huffed, releasing a small cloud of steam in the crisp morning air, adjusting his grip on the weapon as he squinted at the target. The subsequent explosive sounds and the darkened holes popping in the red-painted cardboard did very little to ease the frown on Berwald’s face, but attempting to release the tension was only partly the reason he was here so early in the morning on his day off.

He had a theory worth exploring and the Chief Inspector had surprisingly given him permission to test one of the captured weapons – a customized stainless steel finish [Franchi SPAS-12](http://www.imfdb.org/wiki/Franchi_SPAS-12) shotgun with a shortened barrel and magazine tube – and in a private shooting range no less. It was one of the fancy guns people often saw in actions movies, but Berwald had been proven right until now on his suspicion that it was far less spectacular and user-friendly in real life.

As for the private shooting range, it was an opportunity to be seen.

Berwald had been skeptical about that one, but Adnan insisted that aside from the established ‘legend’ and the fake Interpol records they’d put up for the undercover-to-go detectives, some extra effort had to be put in making things ‘look realistic’ before the start of the mission.

Not that the idea wasn’t awkward as hell - he wasn’t that awfully experienced when it came to undercover missions - but he rather enjoyed the peace and quiet of this place, not many people usually showing up in this remote area littered with deserted warehouses and whatnot and definitely not early on Saturday mornings. It offered no privacy whatsoever though, because aside from the large barrack housing the administrative office and storage facility, it only consisted of a courtyard where the targets were placed, surrounded by a low and see-through wire fence which could have very well been absent save for the ‘NO TRESPASSING’ signs hanging on it every five meters or so. All in all not much of an investment…

After firing another five rounds the Swede lowered the weapon cautiously, his attention drawn by an approaching black van which was swaying dangerously from one side of the road to the other. It stopped abruptly near the gate, tires screeching, and the door on the driver’s side flew open, loud bass-boosted hip hop music resounding from the inside. A gorgeous icy-blonde girl with waist-length hair and donning an extremely flattering black mini-dress stumbled out, a Vodka bottle clutched in her hand.

“You pissed your pants, Vanya, just admit it!” she laughed loudly, pointing inside and walking barefoot to the side of the van. Then she swore something foul and shivered, finally feeling the chill, rolling on the balls of her feet as she slammed her free palm into the car. “Tinoskaaaaaaa!” she whined.

The side door of the van slid open and a young man came into view, scowling and holding his forehead. “Where are your shoes, Natasha?” he scolded, getting out and shrugging out of his baby-blue parka. He draped it over the girl’s shoulders and scooped her up in his arms, saving her bare feet from the concrete.

“Awwww Tinoska, marry me!”

“No! You made fun of my clothes!” the youth said, still scowling, and asked for Vodka.

He was a bit on the short side, with light blonde hair falling in uneven, ruffled bangs over his forehead, and was wearing a rather striking oversized green sweater decorated with colorful beads and Christmas motifs over skinny grey jeans and black combat boots. Berwald’s gaze lingered on him, although the detective had yet to figure out what he was actually staring at. He was undeniably cute, but his outfit was slightly disturbing.       

A tall, solid-looking ashen blond in black dress shirt and pants descended from the passenger seat and walked over to them, carrying a large bag in one hand and a pair of black, dizzyingly high stiletto heels in the other. Another girl followed him from the other side of the car, a lovely blonde with short hair held back with glittery hairclips and wearing a short, white fur coat which did nothing to cover the Swarovski-littered and impressively generous bra underneath.

Great, nothing like some drunk Russians this early in the morning, the detective thought upon concluding his quick observations and letting out a small sigh as he pretended to ignore them. He got busy reloading, hoping they weren’t looking for trouble.

The smaller blond walked in through the gate after putting the drunken beauty back down and into her shoes and relieving her of the Vodka bottle, and raised his hand in greeting at whoever was watching from inside the office, an indication that he was familiar with the place. The others followed, the taller man throwing the bag on the ground once they decided for a spot (unfortunately a bit too close for Berwald’s comfort, but it was a small place to begin with).

The girl with the Swarovski bra squatted and pulled the zip open and then she and the one called Natasha pulled out an AKM rifle each.

“Now, I don’t understand why most people around here go for the fancy foreign stuff, da,” Berwald heard the taller man say in a strongly accented voice, while the other nodded, taking a swig of Vodka. “These are the best. You get the job done and they don’t crap out on you, da.” Then he motioned for the girls to take position in front of the targets. “Natalya, Yekaterina, _strelyat_!”

The erupting gunshots successfully ruined the Swede’s concentration and he missed repeatedly, until the blasted shotgun finally decided to jam and then it was game over. Well, his mind was already made up and his report on the captured weapon as good as written, no need to linger and embarrass himself any further.    

“Need some help over there?”

Berwald nearly flinched in surprise when he saw the shorter blond walking up to him, a light smile on his face as he offered to take a look at the troublesome shotgun. He nodded silently, unable to help noticing the particular color of the other’s large and bright eyes, an almost lilac shade which added to his innocent, childish air. 

“Wow, this thing is old,” the young man observed, weighing the weapon Berwald had given him for a moment before sliding off the top part with an expert hand and slamming the butt forcefully against his knee. “The production stopped like… back in 2000 or something.” Just as swiftly, he put everything back into place and gave the trigger a try. “There, all done!”

“Thank you,” the detective mumbled awkwardly, his discomfort growing as he noticed that the whole group was staring at him now. Maybe they were just curious because he was a new face around here? One could never be too careful in this environment and a cold shudder ran down his spine at the brief thought of being discovered. The fear was there, every single time, every single moment.

“Name’s Tino,” the other said good-humoredly, offering him the three quarters empty Vodka bottle.

“A.k.a Santa,” the blonde named Yekaterina offered with a chuckle.

“Shut up, Katya!” the young man said quickly, stuffing his hands in his pockets but still smiling. “Ivan, Natalya and Yekaterina,” he presented the others, with a quick motion of his head.

“Berwald,” the Swede introduced himself, since Adnan had decided that his real name was weird enough to be used safely, whatever the hell that meant. He accidentally took a larger gulp than intended from the bottle and the burning liquid going down his throat made him choke and his eyes water. 

Tino nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement. “So where’re you from, Berwald?” 

“Sweden…” Right he was apparently, they were trying to figure him out. “You Russian?” he asked, although Tino’s accent was different. Still, the kid was downing Vodka like water and the others were clearly Russian.

“My friend, does that odious sweater look Russian to you, da?” the tall ashen blond interfered, snorting.

Tino’s gaze narrowed and his smile disappeared. “Right, no way I could do the Slav squat wearing this,” he pointed, turning briefly and rolling his eyes. “So no, I’m not Russian. I’m Finnish.”

Oh.

“Is that why you're a weapons expert?”

The Finn smiled demurely at this, slight dimples showing in his round cheeks. “No, no, and I’m hardly an expert,” he replied shrugging modestly. “Just an _aficionado_ , so to say. I own a clothing store actually, so-”

“A _hideous_ clothing store,” Natalya supplied.

“Actually it’s a niche clothing store which the likes of you blatantly lack the taste to properly appreciate, you half-assed bunch of communists!” Tino clarified with a grimace while the others continued to laugh.

Funny banter aside, something told Berwald that the cute little Finn was not as harmless as he claimed to be. Meanwhile, the Russians were not giving any information about themselves (not that displaying their arsenal in that fashion wasn’t giving some indication as to what they could have been into…), but they were clearly curious about him, so the detective decided to be ‘honest’.

“Good for you then,” he said. “I’m momentarily unemployed… But they say this is the land of all opportunities, right?”

“I guess so.” Tino bit his bottom lip, eyes trained on the shotgun the Swede was holding. “So, what were you doing back in Sweden?”

Berwald sighed, shrugging. “Some business, I was managing a few girls. But things got ugly and someone put the police on my trail. So I had to set sail before they got me…” He was momentarily distracted by the approving exclamations of the Russians, before noticing that the Finn was observing him, lilac eyes scanning his frame appreciatively.

“Well, if you’re looking for a job right now I may have something for you,” he said unexpectedly. “I mean it’s not much but until you find something else…”

“At a clothing store?”

Okay so this was really suspicious. If Tino actually owned a clothing store and if he really sold the sort of stuff he was wearing, then truly the last thing he needed was a guy like Berwald manning the desk to make all go down the drain definitively.

“Yeah, I mean I could use a bodyguard and some help in the warehouse,” the Finn explained casually. “Like I said, the pay won’t be much, but…”

“Do you seriously want a bodyguard, Santa?” Natalya inquired teasingly, wrapping her arms around his shoulders from behind and plucking the bottle from his hand. “You do know you’re scary enough on your own, right?”  

“ _I_ ’m not the one popping knives out of their underwear,” Tino replied, producing a business card from his back pocket and offering it to the detective with a bright smile. “Stop by or give me a call if you make up your mind, okay?”

* * *

 

Two hours later Berwald was back home, hunched over his kitchen table and nursing a cup of strong coffee  as he continued to stare blankly at the weird Finn’s business card. Chief Inspector Adnan would have probably strangled him if he’d known that his first important undercover mission had so spectacularly debuted with being offered a job in an ugly clothing store.  

****

**_To be continued_ **


	2. Cutest killer smile

  **CUTEST KILLER SMILE**

A/N – Hello my dear readers! First of all, thank you for showing interest in this fic, it means a lot to me! Also, I promise not to disappoint you any worse than usual (XD just kidding, I’m a’ blow your minds with amazing action and unimaginable plot depths :))))))).  But before anything and without intending this as a spoiler in any way, I _will_ say that in my view certain Nordics have great potential as negative characters and I have set out to demonstrate it to you in this story.  So you have been warned about that, don’t complain.

* * *

 

The two Vargas brothers – in this case generically codenamed ‘the Italians’ by the police and not necessarily because Chief Inspector Adnan had a personal and particular dislike towards Italians – had showed up out of nowhere a few months prior, although this kind of shit always brewed, carefully planned under the surface before it became apparent. What the likes of them were up to was nothing new as far as the police was concerned – drugs, girls and charging protection tax - except the sly bastards were constantly on the move, always one step ahead of the force, leaving behind more rumors than actual proof. For this reason bringing them in was going to take finesse and a lot of work and in the middle of all this Berwald had instead been wasting his time in a spectacular fashion.

For most of the past week he’d been spending his days discreetly keeping an eye on Tino Väinämöinen’s shop, getting to learn the young man’s daily routine, the hours he got out to walk his dog, do his shopping or go out to party with his ‘funny’ Russian friends. The Finn seemed indeed to own a small clothing store in one of the run-down buildings downtown, the ones with living quarters upstairs, had a little white, fluffy dog named Hanatamago or Hatanamago (something really weird at any rate), he was no early riser, preferred to cook at home and Berwald had seen the Russians pick him up in their van on two subsequent nights.      

All in all, he’d learned absolutely nothing of interest as far as his job was concerned… until now.

It was Friday and Berwald was already envisaging the grilling he was going to get from the Chief Inspector upon coming back empty handed after a week of ‘field work’. Maybe he had lost his touch more than he’d thought? And why had he so suddenly made up his mind to pursue the eccentric Finn of all people, for no apparent reason other than that he’d seen him with some suspicious Russians at the shooting range? He and Kohler had a different assignment currently and _this_ did not appear to be in anyway related to it. These thoughts were plaguing the detective’s mind on that cloudy morning as he was leaning tiredly against the brick wall of a building across the street, half-hidden by some debris containers, a steaming paper cup of cheap coffee nestled between his hands, before the his luck finally took a surprising turn for the better.

Back at the office he had a couple of candid shots of Lovino Vargas and he’d genuinely believed the guy was easy to miss in a crowd, just a young man looking somewhat unremarkable, that and Berwald was rather bad with faces upon occasion. Still, when the older of the two Vargas siblings got out of a cab, a small leather briefcase tucked safely under his arm as he waltzed into Väinämöinen’s shop, there was no chance in hell the Swede could have missed him. Something about the neatly pressed dress shirt and suit jacket he was wearing, glossy chestnut hair or the surprisingly thick moustache rendered him unmistakable this time and Berwald’s eyes widened in shock, paper cup nearly dropping from his hand from the sudden surge of excitement.

It was a weird feeling though – the familiar thrill of finally getting a lead mixing with the realization that somehow, deep down, he had hoped that Tino Väinämöinen had nothing to do with the Italians and he’d not be part of this investigation. But the fact proved beyond doubt when the detective saw Vargas returning to the cab shortly afterwards carrying a plastic-wrapped tweed suit instead of the briefcase from before, now mysteriously gone. Now, he was no fashion expert, but it was unlikely that this small and… _unpretentious_ shop (to put it mildly) was the kind of place a rich Italian would get his clothing from. Even if Lovino’s moustache had struck Berwald as rather anachronistic (again, just a personal opinion).

Cautiously, he slipped away from his observation spot, reaching for the cell phone in his back pocket as the hood of his jacket was pulled low over his face and the detective started down the street in the opposite direction from the departing cab. 

* * *

 

“Is this okay?” Berwald grumbled, awkwardly sizing himself up in front of the full mirror. Adnan had given him the green light the day before, so it was unclear why Kohler was lingering around now, adding to his growing discomfort.

“Ye’re not going on a date, are ye?” the Dane pointed with a snort. “It’s yer face that got ye recommended in the first place, wasn’t it? Not that ye were wearing anything fancy back at the shooting range… or ever.”

“The guy has a clothing store, if I want to get a job as a bodyguard there I can’t look bad…” he argued, running a hand randomly through his short-cropped hair and knowing full well just how stupid this sounded. But he was nervous, anxious even more than before and it was making him second-guess every little detail. Even his outfit, something he had never bothered himself with before.  

“This’ll be just fine,” Kohler stated, waving his hand in the general direction of Berwald’s faded black jeans, simple dark-blue t-shirt and hoodie. “It’s not like ye’re in the money, otherwise ye wouldn’t be looking for a job, right? It’s more important not to look like ye’re trying too hard to make a good impression. This job is shit – he told ye that from the start – ye’re only taking it until something better comes up and nobody expects ye to put too much effort.”

“Right.”

Berwald could do this reasoning for himself just fine, but the Chief Inspector must have intuited how unsettled he was feeling about the mission considering his relative lack of experience and while he had no problem throwing his men in head first and letting them learn ‘how to swim’ on their own, the detective was going to have an eye kept on him to make sure he wasn’t going to screw things up. He didn’t think it would be Kohler though, something told him this was just a distraction, after all the loud and conspicuous Dane was hardly the man for such a job.   

* * *

 

The old-fashioned bell rang as the door finally swung open, at the end of the two full minutes the Swede had spent staring thoughtfully (or absently) at the ‘OPEN’ sign hung on the inside of the glass. Normally this would have looked really weird, except he could see that inside no one was momentarily manning the counter. He walked in with slow, unhurried steps, taking in the small space and not really knowing what to expect.

A high-pitched bark resounded from behind the cloth drape separating the shop area from the back and Berwald stopped awkwardly in the middle of the room, hands stuffed in his pockets. Some hushed scolding followed and a moment later the Finn appeared from behind the drape, the small dog with the funny name he hadn’t been able to catch nestled in his arms. No longer barking now, the snow-white ball of fluff was staring at him with round, bright eyes, wagging its tail excitedly.

Berwald’s gaze trailed from the pet’s immaculate fur to the young man’s baby-blue dress shirt with rolled-up sleeves and brown v-neck plaid sweater vest. Obviously, the outfit was purported to have the same _Granddad-from-the-fifties_ vibe as the rest of the merchandise on display and, just like the tweed suit Vargas had bought three days before, made zero sense on someone as youthful-looking as the small blond Finn.

“Oh!” he said at the sight of Berwald, in a fashion which was hard to decipher. Maybe he’d been expected?

“Hello,” the detective greeted, motioning curtly with his head, before his hand emerged from his pocket, holding up the business card he’d received.

“Hi! Bard-…?”

“Berwald.”

“Yeah…” Väinämöinen nodded and then shrugged with a small, apologetic smile. “I’m just bad with names, sorry…”

“No problem.” The Swede took two steps forward casually, gesturing to the various shelves and whatnot. “I just thought I’d drop by and see if the offer was still standing.”

The other bit his lip briefly, seeming to ponder. “Um… yeah,” he replied, releasing the small dog which instantly darted back under the drape cloth. “I mean, I didn’t get to hire anyone else yet. So, nothing came up for you, Ber-wald?”  Was it just Berwald’s impression or he looked somewhat cautious now, all the sudden? Still, it had been _his_ idea to start with, the detective had certainly not shown up uninvited.

“No, and I thought I’d lie low for a while anyway. You said you wanted a bodyguard?”

Tino’s lilac eyes were sizing him up thoughtfully. “I could use one, yes, but… um… before agreeing to anything you should probably know what you’re getting yourself into…”

“Don’t know much about retail,” the Swede answered truthfully.

“A-ha! _Retail_ …” the smaller blond laughed softly and nodded, dimples showing in his round cheeks. “Still, you gave me the impression that you can handle serious stuff if need be. Was I wrong?”

Berwald straightened his back and nodded. “I can.”

“Good. Come with me.”

Behind the drape there was a small back room with a computer desk and some ledgers and catalogues lying around and an old, worn sofa half-occupied by a large pink dog basket.

“Her name is Hanatamago and normally she can’t stand strangers,” Tino mentioned briefly, pointing to the pet now curled up in it. “Do you like dogs?” he asked, retrieving a set of keys from one of the desk drawers.

“I guess-”

Berwald had a mind, for conversation’s sake, to ask whether the dog’s unusual name meant anything, but found himself at a loss for words when the other opened a side door to another room, which seemed to contain a whole arsenal, the walls lined up with gun racks and shelves with ammunition of all sorts. He swallowed hard, reaching up to adjust the glasses which had somehow slipped down his nose.   

“It’s impressive,” he observed, nodding slowly as he noticed the Finn carefully gauging his reaction.

“You didn’t think I was really selling _clothes_ , did you?”

And now he was being tested. “I didn’t know if you were into selling anything, to be honest,” Berwald replied, leaning against the door frame and trying to look as relaxed as he could muster under the circumstances.

“No? What else could I be into then?” Tino asked curiously.

“Services.” The detective cleared his throat, looking away from the other’s almost petite frame and hoping that this had not been too uninspired. “But I don’t like to make rushed assumptions,” he added quickly.

The Finn laughed again and shook his head. “Those girls gave you the wrong idea about me but no, not anymore…” Whatever _that_ meant. “So, here’s how it is – all of this is ‘off the record’, only the clothing store has all the legal papers and stuff. And if I’m to put you in the books, it will be at the minimum wage too and the rest will be ‘over the counter’ and negotiable, okay?”

Berwald exhaled loudly and involuntarily crossed his arms, unable to get rid of the feeling that something was off. After all, this guy didn’t know him at all, couldn’t have possibly checked him up in such a short time, so unless he was already under some suspicion there was absolutely no reason for the gun dealer to be so open about his business from the get-go. Could it be that he’d been so painfully obvious that Väinämöinen had smelled him and was now trying to see how eager he was to get the job?

“Your business looks pretty serious, I can see now why you’d need a bodyguard,” he observed carefully. “But I don’t know why you’d just trust me with this.”   

The smaller blond smiled a broad, incredibly cute smile, his large eyes bright and charming. “I don’t trust you, I’m just giving you a chance,” he stated simply. “And if you betray me, I’ll kill you.”

And so it was settled.

**_To be continued_ **

 


	3. I saw you - part 1

**I SAW YOU (part 1)**

A/N 1 – Hello everyone! Okay I just realized that I’d delved straight into the action without writing any meaningless author notes first! Unthinkable! :)))) So, all I can say is – guys, thank you so much for the support you’re giving this fic and enjoy the new chap ;)

A/N 2 - One of my readers on AO3 pointed out that Berwald actually uses more vowels than I gave him until now and for that I deeply apologize! Thank you again for this insightful feedback and yeah, will do ;)

_Sebastiano Vargas– Seborga_

_Alin – Romania_

* * *

 

Berwald stifled a yawn, briefly rubbing his eyes under his glasses and sighing into the refreshing aroma wafting from the coffee cup in his hand. His days had gotten longer and more stressful as of late, always on the edge at the new ‘job’. He had yet to see Väinämöinen’s supplier (or suppliers?) and there weren’t a lot of customers as it was, but all the time spent anticipating something, _anything_ to happen was wearing him out like nothing else. Aside from that, the detective was painfully aware that he had to do something to dig up useful information on the Italians – the reason he’d taken up the job in the first place – maybe try to talk his employer into giving him some?

He would have hated this to prove a dead end and to have to leave the Finn in search for other opportunities, as striking as this may have sounded. Because Tino Väinämöinen was a gun dealer who probably had no qualms about using one too if need be, had openly threatened to kill him with the same ease with which one talked about the weather, and that innocent and sweet air he had about him was like a soft blanket of sparkly snowflakes shrewdly concealing the hard, unforgiving ice underneath. Still, there was something about the man Berwald found himself drawn to and oddly curious about, even if he couldn’t possibly pinpoint it.

“Hmm, looks like the Magic Club will be paying us a visit today,” Tino muttered like an afterthought, eyes glued to the screen of his phone as he was scrolling down on it lazily, leaning on one elbow onto the counter he was sitting behind. “Got an e-mail with their order the other day, good thing I got it ready right away, pffftt... ”   

Berwald instantly perked up at the odd name, because it was the first time in the past week that he’d heard the Finn actually name his customers. Usually he just took them in the back without a word to his bodyguard, delivered the goods and collected payments with professional efficiency and no unneeded disclosures.

“The Magic Club?” he asked tentatively. It sounded like a gang name.

“You haven’t heard of them?”

“Nope”

“What about the Edelstein family?”

The Swede shook his head, digging into his pocket to check his own phone.

“So then… who _have_ you heard of?”    

He looked up to see Tino observing him curiously and cleared his throat, straightening his back. “I’ve heard of the Vargas brothers,” the detective ventured, trying to keep his tone as casual as possible. “They’re recruiting, or so the word goes…”       

“Oh! But if they’re recruiting, then why is it that you didn’t get a job with them instead? I’m sure you’d fit the requirements and the pay must be better too,” the other asked.

Well, because it would have been too close to the target and possibly too suspicious, if he indeed would have had the chance to ‘apply’ with the Italians, although Berwald wasn’t entirely sure of this argument. If this paid off though, it was much better this way. It was unlikely that the Vargas brothers would ever suspect their guns supplier’s bodyguard of being a cop on their trail.  

“I don’t like Italians,” he replied with a brief shrug. “I don’t trust their work ethics…”

Tino’s mouth stretched into a genuinely amused smile and he started to chuckle. “That’s a good one, _work ethics_! That’s a big word in this line of work, Ber… I didn’t see that coming from you!” he pointed, wiggling his finger playfully. “So, do you think that I-”

The Finn didn’t get to finish his sentence because in the next moment the front door flew open and a disheveled teen barged inside. Berwald put down the coffee cup and stood automatically, right hand discreetly but determinedly going for the Walther P99 Tino had provided and which was now tucked safely into the back of his belt. But something about the boy drew his attention, there was something familiar in his lean and somewhat graceful frame and the light, auburn-tinged chestnut hair falling in a curl over his sweat-covered forehead and framing his reddened cheeks.

“Do you know who I am?” the teen inquired aggressively, after quickly scanning the room.

“You’re a little shit,” Väinämöinen replied impassively, resuming the scrolling on his phone.

The boy looked perplexed for a split second, no doubt taken aback by the reaction he’d surely not expected. “I’m Sebastiano Vargas, motherfucker!” he spat, his accent breaking out and making the last word sound almost comically. “And you, _you little shit_ , are gonna give me something!”

“ _Something_?”

“A shotgun,” Sebastiano said, quickly licking his chapped lips. “Something cool!”

“How much do you have?” Tino wanted to know, still not gracing the kid with as much as a glance. As the young Italian didn’t answer, he finally set his phone down on the counter and stood up, leaning forward on his palms. “See, that’s what I thought. Underage, underfinanced, the answer is no.”

“I’ve got _this_ , motherfucker!” the teen shouted, his arm shooting forward with surprising speed and aiming a gun straight at the Finn.  

Berwald was about to draw out his own weapon, but Tino stopped him with a brief wave of his hand. “You know what, you’re a dumbass and you offend me,” he told the Italian. “You say you want a shotgun, but you didn’t even bother to fucking _google_ something first, so you don’t even know what the hell you want! And then you barge in here like Snow-White and you think that what, we’re sitting ducks?!” He sighed. “Can you see that muzzle below the top of the counter?”

The Swede followed the teen’s anxious gaze and discovered it, concealed between various fabric samples. It was really unnoticeable and pointed at the perfect angle to aim at a potential intruder. Like this one.

“It’s a Suomi KP/-31 sub-machinegun, with a rate of fire of 750–900 rounds per minute, muzzle velocity 396 meters per second and an effective firing range of 200 m. That is to say, it can gun your ass all the way into the store across the street.”

“What cartridge?” Berwald asked, instead of the actual question which was about to escape him. He was no gun expert, but had a vague suspicion Tino was talking about a vintage, collector’s item, most likely not functional.

“9 per 19 millimeter Parabellum,” the Finn clarified. “And it’s remote controlled.”

“Bullshit!” Sebastiano shouted, but his gun arm had started to shake slightly. “Bullshit!” he repeated, when Tino checked his wrist watch and huffed in annoyance. “I want-… I want an AK-47! Right now! Right now or I’ll fucking kill you!”

Berwald saw the boy’s index finger twitching against the trigger and acted on impulse (safety first, always - that was how he’d been trained), lunging forward at top speed and ramming into the teen with all his strength while he forced his gun arm upwards. The young Italian cried out and the gun discharged just before the detective managed to get a hold of it, making a hole into the low ceiling above and causing crumbs of plaster to rain down on both of them.

“Ugh…” the shop-owner groaned, assessing the damage. “Just when I’d given it a new paint-job, damn it!”

He dug up a vodka bottle from under the counter and unscrewed the lid with an expert flick of his thumb. “You can bet I _will_ be putting that on your brother’s bill,” he informed Sebastiano – whom the Swede had forced down on his knees, arms twisted behind his back - before taking a long swig of the clear liquid. “And if I didn’t have a business relationship with Lovino, do you think you’d still be breathing in this fucking moment?!” Tino shook his head. “Seriously, what the fuck did you think you’d get out of this? I’d never give you shit. And if you had shot me, you’d have the Russians after your ass in no time, is that what you want? Maybe I should let them know about this anyway…”

“You wouldn’t fucking dare-” the teen spat, struggling in Berwald’s grip as Väinämöinen picked up his phone and started to type away.

“Wait! What if someone heard and reported the shot? The police might show up in here!” the Swede pointed.

“Great, let _them_ pick up the trash,” Tino shrugged. “We’ll just tell them ‘ _the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me’_ -”

“You dumb fuck, if the police comes I’ll tell them everything! Everything!” Sebastiano yelled. “Who you are, all that shit you have in the back, and this guy – what the fuck is up with this guy, huh?! Would anyone think he’s working in a clothing store?!”

“What, he’s handsome. And _you_ were the one barging in here with a gun,” Tino pointed with a smile. “I can’t wait to see your brothers showing up to collect your ass from the station, considering that the police are looking for them already.”

Berwald didn’t catch what the Finn said next, still hung up on the sudden tightness in his stomach upon hearing the smaller blond referring to him as handsome. He knew, obviously, how incredibly stupid this was and that the other had not meant anything aside from irony even, but still the feeling lingered, fueled by Tino’s perfect smile which promised all hell. And it looked like the Finn was aware that the police was looking to get their hands on the Vargas brothers, which only added to the danger of his own mission and the spike of twisted excitement at the thought.

Some ten minutes later the door opened again and Tino sighed in relief at the sight of the new visitor, a young man donning a long, black pea coat with rolled up sleeves over a thin, oversized t-shirt and skinny black jeans. A small, black fedora hat was perched on top of his head, contrasting with his light brown hair with reddish dyed strands, which was swiped back into a short ponytail.

“No one’s coming, I checked,” he said, taking off his shades and brushing the long bangs away from his forehead with thin, bony fingers.

“Thanks, Alin,” the Finn replied and sighed deeply. “I’m really sorry that this shit had to happen today of all days… Lovino texted me that the Beilschmidts are already on their way to pick up the little troublemaker,” he added shaking his head.

“Huh. So what did you want, kid? A new tie for prom?” the newcomer asked amused, his voice vaguely laced with a soft, East-European accent.

“Hey! You’re that fucking vampire guy!” Sebastiano mocked him. “Isn’t it kinda sunny for you to be out? What if you burst into flames or something?”

Alin grinned in a slightly disturbing fashion, leaning forward and tilting the teen’s chin up with two black-nailed fingers. “You know, this joke is really getting old and shows your pathetic incapacity to come up with a proper insult, but to your credit at least you don’t seem to have read Twilight,” he observed.

“He wanted an AK-47,” Tino specified.

“Well highschool’s tough, at least it was back in my day,” Alin laughed, straightening up and leaning on his elbows onto the counter. “The others will be coming soon, it’s just that Arthur couldn’t decide where to park the car. You know how he is… I see you’ve finally got some help?” he asked, throwing Berwald an assessing glance.

“Yep,” the Finn confirmed. “Meet Berwald, he just got here from Sweden, all ‘clean’ and stuff,” he said and smiled again, this time straight at the detective, who awkwardly muttered a greeting while freeing one of his hands to shake Alin’s.

“So you just thought this place needed more of that _Nordic charm_ you guys have,” the other joked.

“Just admit you’re into our Nordic charm big time, I know you swoon over Bondevik and that perfect Norwegian ass of his,” Tino laughed. “You know, maybe you should ask him out to dinner sometime.”

“I _would_ ask him out to dinner, if only he wasn’t a people-eating troll.”

As it turned out, the Magic Club was a weird bunch. The Romanian Alin seemed to be barely out of his teens although it was a deceiving appearance and looked like some sort of creepy pop star, the Brit Arthur – the boss – was a hardcore Harry Potter fan with at least seven piercings (one in his tongue) and then there was Lukas Bondevik, the most beautiful (and horrible) person Berwald had ever laid eyes on. His eyes were a dark, almost violet blue which looked soulless and sent cold shivers down the detective’s spine. And unlike the other two, who seemed cheerful and talkative, the Norwegian did not utter a single word, mostly ignoring Tino and his gaze trained intently on Berwald almost the whole time, carefully watching his every move and expression.   

Thankfully, the trio didn’t linger into the shop for more than some ten minutes, and when they were finally out the door with two duffel bags and a small guitar case the Swede couldn’t hold back a sigh of relief and wiping the slight beads of sweat which had gathered just below his hairline.

“They’re interesting,” he concluded, clearing his throat awkwardly as Tino crossed his arms and began tapping his foot, wondering out loud why the Vargas’s bodyguards were taking so damn long.

“I guess,” the Finn agreed.

“I couldn’t figure out if the Norwegian is a prostitute or a hired killer,” Berwald blurted out truthfully, scratching his head and hoping his employer would not mind. “He was staring at me in a funny way, too…”

“He’s probably both,” Tino snorted. “Seriously though, they kinda look like a boy band, but they can be really scary when they want to be. You gotta be real tough to be an independent contractor and not belong to any established ‘family’. At first I thought they were suspicious and, you know, that they might be undercover cops, but then I saw Arthur Kirkland execute a gang member in broad daylight. A cop wouldn’t do that, right? Heh.”

So Tino was well aware of the possibility of undercover cops sniffing around… of course he was. Everyone was. What had Berwald been thinking?! No, no, he’d been aware of the risks all along, but for some reason his senses felt anesthetized by the Finn’s presence, in a way which could very easily spell his undoing if he let it get out of hand.

His musings were interrupted when a car stopped right in front of the shop’s door, awkwardly half-perched on the sidewalk, and a tall, solid blond got off the passenger seat. He walked in, muttering some apology in a thick German accent while he roughly grabbed Sebastiano by the scruff of his neck, finally relieving Berwald of his charge.

“Let go of me, you ugly potato fuck!!” the teen yelled, struggling and trying to kick the man in the shin.

“Mr. Vargas also hopes he’ll be seeing you next week, for a couple of drinks,” the German told Tino, ignoring the troublemaker. “The usual spot, ja?”

The smaller blond nodded quickly. “Sure, we’ll be there! Right, Ber?” he asked the detective with a wide smile. And with that one, innocent smile, the world as detective Berwald Oxenstierna knew it was about to be turned upside down for good.

**_To be continued_ **


	4. I saw you - part 2

**I SAW YOU (part 2)**

A/N 1 – Hello my dear readers! Okay, so I’m updating once every million years, it’s time I’ve accepted that :))))) (it comes with a full time, 10 hours per day job, it can’t be helped). Anyway, moving past the irrelevant personal rant moment, enjoy the new chap ;)

 ** _Warnings:_** _mentions of alcohol abuse, unfortunate mishaps and... some excitement_

* * *

 

As plainly absurd as it was, Berwald found himself excited by the prospect of going out with his employer, beyond considering the obvious opportunity to gather information on the Italians while he was at it. As it was though, he was barely thinking of it and was inwardly panicking that Chief Inspector Adnan could sense it too, despite showing optimism at his regular reports. No, he was feeling almost jittery at the thought of seeing the Finn ‘outside of work’, although it wasn’t exactly that – Väinämöinen was just ‘networking’ with his clients – and the Swede was painfully aware that he was dancing on the edge of doom. And why _on earth_ was he suddenly overwhelmed by such unwanted feelings? When had they crept up upon him? The worst was he couldn’t even tell anyone about this or ask for advice, it would have looked horribly unprofessional!

Tino didn’t seem to be seeing anyone either, which only added to the detective’s predicament. He knew the Finn was occasionally going out with the Russians – and the two girls he’d met back at the shooting range were nothing short of gorgeous! – but no particular involvement with any of them was apparent. None of them spent the night upstairs, they weren’t even visiting him at the shop. But just on those grounds Berwald couldn’t hope that Tino was in any way _available_ , or that he was into men to start with, so simply letting himself fall prey to that not-so-innocently flirty air the gun dealer had about him sometimes was not only stupid but also extremely dangerous. Okay, it would have been dangerous anyway but as things were it was also dumb and a side of Berwald couldn’t help revolting against this sudden dumbness.   

“We’re not going out!” the detective grumbled under his breath, scowling, his fingers shaking slightly on the keys as he let himself into the shop. He was a bit late today (again struggling with the stupid issue of what to wear!), but curiously Tino wasn’t in, or up yet. He sighed, throwing a glance around the place and wondering what he was supposed to do. Not disturb his employer, at any rate, if he was sleeping in.

His dilemma didn’t last long though, as less than half an hour later some mumbled swears were heard at the door and a glance in that direction revealed Tino on the other side of the window, fumbling with his keys with one hand, while with the other he was leaning awkwardly against the doorframe.

Berwald rushed and opened the door which didn’t actually need unlocking and caught the smaller blond in his arms just in time as the Finn slumped forward, eyelids dropping shut.

“TINO! ARE YOU HURT?!” the detective demanded, lifting the other in his arms without a second thought.

“Mmmmpfff… drunk…” the gun dealer muttered, head dropping heavily against Berwald’s shoulder. And then for some reason he started to chuckle, delicious dimples showing in his flushed cheeks and making him look endearingly childish and innocent.

“’m taking you to bed,” Berwald grumbled, looking away from the other’s face and adjusting his grip on his body as he started towards the back, uncertain. He’d never been upstairs, into the small apartment Väinämöinen had above the shop, and the thought of intruding there, uninvited, made him nervous. Still, he went forward, past the drape behind the counter and into the back room, then, with a bit of a struggle, opened the one door he’d never been through.

It opened to a dark, narrow staircase of barely polished concrete with simple metal railing and in his anguish the Swede completely missed the light switch at the bottom of the stairs. Instead, he trudged upwards blindly with his burden, nearly stumbling when he reached the top and the sudden light blinded him as he pushed through the (fortunately unlocked) door. The two-room apartment was indeed crammed but surprisingly luminous and uncluttered and a vague dog food smell lingered in the narrow hallway, making the detective realize that he hadn’t seen Hanatamago yet. Just then a sharp bark broke out and the white ball of fluff marched out of the bedroom, wagging its tail.

“Ughhh…” Tino groaned, scrunching his face at the sudden noise and shifting in his bodyguard’s arms. “Ber…wald, I think I’m gonna-”

And then he vomited, while Berwald just stood there, motionless, head turned and eyes closed, and not quite able to believe _this_ was actually happening.

“’m s-sorry…”

_Christ!_

The Swede steered towards the bathroom, delaying the moment in which he would have to face the awful mess. He carefully lowered the smaller blond into the bathtub and started the shower, ignoring the other’s moaned protests as cold water hit him fully in the face. Good God, where to even start?! Before realizing, Berwald had already pulled his filthy shirt over his head and thrown it in the trash bin, thankful that it was his only clothing item to have been affected.

Tino’s clothes however were another story. Fighting back the string of curses threatening to spill, the taller blond pulled them off the other’s body, stripping him down to his boxers, and they went to join his own shirt in the bin (since Berwald’s traumatized mind couldn’t momentarily process the possibility of cleaning anything). The abundance of cold water he subsequently proceeded to shower on the Finn was enough to get him clean but not quite sober; still the detective decided that he could at least put the young man to bed now (but not before shoving the bottle of mouthwash into Tino’s limp hand and firmly suggesting he should use it).

Eventually, he carried the smaller blond – now wrapped up in a large, fluffy towel – into the bedroom and lowered him onto the duvet, and that was when the door bell rang in the shop below, surprisingly loud.

Berwald flinched and turned automatically, storming out of the room – the place could not be left unguarded and he’d already made the grave mistake of leaving the front door unlocked. In the hallway he tripped onto one of Tino’s shoes, which had gotten discarded on the way and nearly fell flat on his face. 

* * *

 

Alin was waiting downstairs, elbows resting casually on the counter and an unlit cigarette dangling in one corner of his mouth.

“Tino’s not answering his phone,” the Romanian said cautiously. “Do you know where he is?”

“Bedroom,” Berwald replied curtly, motioning with his head in the direction of the apartment.

“ _Oh_ ,” the other observed, eyes widening a bit and the quizzical once-over he gave the detective made him brusquely realize that he’d gone down shirtless and damp and now it looked like- _Fuck._

“No, no,” he said quickly, holding his hands up defensively. “He just got back, really drunk and threw up on my shirt while I was carrying him upstairs…”

Alin scowled for a split second, then lunged forward brusquely, pushing past the Swede in the direction of the stairs. “He can’t be left alone in that state! He could choke on his own puke or something!” he cried, genuinely alarmed and making the other flinch.

Granted, Berwald didn’t have that much experience with handling people drunk out of their mind to know all the risks. He followed the other back into the apartment, which the Romanian seemed to be fairly familiar with, and to the bedroom where Tino was asleep now, having somehow managed to crawl under the duvet for a change.

“Not what you signed up for, huh…” Alin observed fleetingly, motioning towards the bed. “Okay, stay with him and hold his head up a little higher, in case it happens again,” he instructed. “I’m gonna go make him something light to eat for when he wakes up, like a soup or something, yeah?”

And then he was off, leaving the detective staring and rather baffled. He would never have imagined that Tino’s clients actually cared so much about him, or maybe the ‘Magic Club’ members were more like his friends than just clients? Was that going to prove an additional complication in the general scheme of things? It was hard to tell at this point…  

He sat down gingerly, awkwardness creeping upon him anew as he leaned in and pulled the Finn up, propping his shoulders slightly against the pillows. This sort of closeness surely wasn’t helping, nor seeing the gun dealer so endearingly vulnerable for once, in striking contrast with the tough front from before. Asleep, Tino looked almost angelic and Berwald’s calloused fingertips couldn’t help ghosting over the pale forehead, gently brushing away the damp bangs and going on to trail through the light blonde strands, tucking ruffled ends behind the other’s ear.

* * *

 

“Oh my god, you’re such a _dad_ …” Alin laughed and the sudden observation made the Swede snap out of his musings and realize he’d been sitting there for some time now, lost in contemplation. A pleasant smell wafted from the kitchen and there was a steaming bowl of vegetable soup in the young man’s hands, which he carefully deposited on the nightstand along with some paper tissues. “Do you have kids?”

“…no,” Berwald grunted, reflecting on how his tough guy image had just gone down the drain. Still, the other had gone through the trouble of _cooking_ , so that had to be worse. “You?”

“Nah… I just have a perfect face and a perfect heart,” the Romanian explained with a grin. “Anyway, when he wakes up tell him to check the messages on his phone, if he still has it. See you guys later.”

Some fifteen minutes later the Finn stirred under the covers, groaned and proceeded to grace his bodyguard with a sleepy but still quizzical glance. Berwald still hadn’t thought to look for a shirt to put on (Väinämöinen’s clothing probably didn’t fit him anyway), but the other’s eyes were on his face now, intently searching his own for a long moment before the younger spoke.

“What happened?” he murmured, gaze finally trailing over the Swede’s bare torso and to the bowl of soup. He blinked quickly and narrowed his eyes, as if the picture before him just wasn’t adding up.

The taller blond poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue, trying to come up with the proper phrasing. What if Tino was sensitive and easily offended? This could blow everything up and he couldn’t afford any mistakes. Meanwhile, Tino pulled away and sat up, scratching his head.

“Wait, did I-… throw up on you?”

“Yeah, on-…” Berwald confirmed, making a vague gesture with his hand. “Anyway, Alin was here just now and he made you some soup,” he said quickly, willing away the growing discomfort. “Also, he said you should check up your-”

 _Oh_. Tino’s phone was probably in the trash bin, together with his puked on clothing. Shit. Still, Berwald had no choice but to inform him about it.

“Fuck… okay. I-I’m really sorry about that,” Tino muttered, throwing the covers aside with a hasty gesture and sliding off the bed. “I’m gonna take care of everything, okay? And I’ll get you something to wear.”

* * *

 

Berwald thought it had been oddly sweet of the Finn to apologize for the ‘accident’, he hadn’t thought the other would do it at all (in substance he didn’t seem to actually give an awful lot of fucks about it), but lo and behold, only two days after the mishap there were solid chances it would happen all over again.  They were now at the shady club the Vargas brothers had invited them the week before and Tino sure wasn’t holding back on his Vodka.

The Swede had been abandoned at a recluse table in the suspicious company of the Magic Club, while his employer was off to talk to the two Italian brothers at the bar. In private, he’d said, even though the place was fairly crowded and the music really loud. But that was what made it inconspicuous, sort of, the detective concluded.

“Mate, it was tough that you had to ‘babysit’ the other day,” Arthur Kirkland said, taking a pensive sip of his whiskey.

“Pffff, takes a tough guy to take care of _that_ mess,” Alin laughed. “And all that pampering…”

Again, the Norwegian was disturbingly quiet, just watching Berwald intently. ‘I see you’ said those dark indigo eyes, like a soundless whisper of suspicion. He gulped down some of his own drink, nervous – maybe he was only imagining things. But even if the other was suspicious of him, what _could_ he know?

“Did you get to see his tattoo?” the Englishman asked suddenly. “Ah, mate, you should have seen it, it’s something else!” he stated when the detective shook his head. “It’s really… not what you’d expect of that bunny… hehe. Got his two nicknames from it though.”

“Nicknames?”

“Yeah,” Alin supplied. “Like, some people call him _Santa_ but, well, others call him _Reaper_. But he’s kinda both really. He got it in prison, a while ago, and held up to the names. Like a personal brand, how cool is that?”

“In prison?”

Now this was strange, because he’d run up Väinämöinen’s name through the database and nothing had come up, the Finn had a clean record. Or maybe Väinämöinen wasn’t his real name? Something had to be up with these people, because he’d found nothing on the Russians either, the name Braginski just didn’t show anywhere…

“Yeah, back in Finland,” Kirkland clarified. “He did time for armed robbery when he was… well, I don’t know if he was eighteen yet. The shop owner thought he was a nice kid, until he got naughty and drew out a Kalashnikov,” he laughed.

Berwald jolted when a heavy hand landed in the middle of his back, nearly making him knock over his glass, in the next moment Tino slipping into the seat beside him with a huff. “Were you talking shit about me?” he asked Arthur, motioning with the Vodka bottle clutched in his hand.

“Nah, just telling big guy here what a piece of candy you are, not that he hasn’t seen it already. You should at least buy him a drink for that!”

“And me!” the Romanian added, with a fake scowl.

Tino ignored them. “You have?” he asked his bodyguard, fingers abandoning the bottle and coming to rest on the Swede’s arm. His sleeve was rolled up and the Finn’s fingers were damp and cool against his skin, and light like snowflakes. His lilac eyes had an odd gleam about them in the flickering lights as they bore into Berwald’s, before he craned his neck up to whisper in the taller blond’s ear.

“Let’s go in the back,” he murmured, almost inaudibly.

The detective reached automatically for his glass and took a large, awkward gulp, willing away the sudden flutter in his stomach. Was he hearing things?

“…what?”

“I’ve noticed how you look at me.”

Berwald froze in place, his brain going on overdrive with the effort of finding something suitable to say in reply, some denial of sorts because right now he was fucked, or being fucked with and for all he knew the Finn could just be messing with him for the mere sake of his drunken fun. But nothing came to him, his mouth remained clamped shut and his body immobile, even if inside he was shaking, and when Tino’s hand slipped under his sweaty palm, getting a grip on it and pulling him from the table, he complied meekly, feeling utterly powerless.

**_To be continued_ **


	5. You want this

**YOU WANT THIS**

A/N  – Hello everyone! Yes, it is still me, but I’ve changed my penname (LillyofFire). This year something wonderful happened in terms of self-improvement and I’m a new person, I feel different and I needed to make some changes. Don’t worry thought, I still write the same twisted shit as always. 

That being said, enjoy the new chap!

 **_Warnings:_ ** _you know what_

* * *

 

Berwald could feel his own heart pounding madly in his chest as he was dragged across the room by his employer’s small but firm hand and he was unable to resist, reduced to about zero personal willpower. As for saying something, _anything_ , that was out of the question, his brain refused to generate any coherent argument and the (only) whiskey he’d had earlier had turned out to be too much in his state. The two of them walked into the poorly illuminated men’s room (more like Tino violently barged in through the door) startling the only other person inside, some young fellow splashing water on his face in front of one of the broken sinks.

“Fuck off!” the Finn told him, not necessarily harshly but with enough determination to make the other flinch and get moving in the next second.

“Look, d-did I do something wrong?” the detective asked as he was roughly pushed into one of the stalls and Tino kicked the door shut behind him. Good God, now he was _stuttering_! This was really bad, all it would take was a split second to betray himself, he needed to get his shit together and _fast_!

The smaller blond gave him a thoughtful glance, his earlier frenzy being momentarily put on hold. “Hmmm, something _wrong_? Like, from an _ethical_ point of view, or-…?” he wondered. Obviously, Berwald’s peculiar choice of words (if not entirely uninspired!) from that day had stuck with him, which probably wasn’t a good thing.

“I mean-…” Berwald struggled with the phrasing, realized his cheeks were burning and overall decided that he really needed to slap himself. Hard. “H-How am I looking at you?”

“Like you want this.” Tino raised an eyebrow, giving a lopsided smirk which didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Like you want _me_ ,” he clarified. “See, I can just feel these things, I’ve been to prison.”

 _Oh, fuck!_ Now the Swede panicked. _If something’s happened to him in prison, now he’s going to do me in if he thinks I want to abuse him too.._. Both that thought and other implications of what the other had said made him flinch and suddenly the reality of how painfully unprepared – at least mentally - he actually was for this mission overwhelmed Berwald. “Oh, fuck… I-I would never-… I mean-”

But to his surprise, Tino only reached up and touched the side of his face, his palm and fingers gentle and cool against his heated skin. “Oh my God, I was joking,” he murmured amused, stepping closer and his gaze softening. “I mean I did time like, back in history, but you rest assured - _no one_ fucking dared to give me that look,” he chuckled, lips nearly brushing his bodyguard’s neck.

Then, in the next moment, his mouth was pressed lightly against Berwald’s chin, then against his lips, ever-so-teasingly.

The Swede felt his heart dropping in his stomach as he craned his neck and finally kissed Tino, tentatively pecking his lips at first, then fully as the other allowed his tongue access into his mouth. The gun dealer had the strong and vaguely sweet taste of Vodka, which Berwald couldn’t help thinking that it suited him surprisingly well, he was like a strong drink clouding the mind and effectively erasing all judgment.

His hands reached down around the smaller blond and gripped the back of his slender thighs, hauling him up and prompting him to wrap his legs around the detective’s waist as the kiss deepened. Berwald nearly sighed in relief against the other’s lips – this felt _so right_ (even if it was _anything but!_ ), as if it was about damn time it finally happened, as if it had been waiting to happen ever since he’d laid eyes on the petite Finn that morning at the shooting range.

Before he knew it, Tino was back on his own feet, his back turned and palms pressed against the scribbled-on tiles, legs spread open and bottom rubbing against the detective’s crotch. Berwald wrapped his arms around the smaller form and allowed his lips to wander onto the nape of the Finn’s neck, fleetingly noting that this was turning into way more than a drunken quickie. His hands slipped down his boss’s sides, tracing the delicate shape of his body all the way to his hips and eventually dipping under the waistband of the skinny jeans. 

“Nghhh, what are you waiting for?!” Tino moaned, pressing back into his body and making his pants feel even tighter. Nervous fingers tugged at the Finn’s zipper and eventually eased the jeans and boxers down past his hips.

Then Berwald glanced down between their bodies and something he’d completely forgotten about caught his attention – the tattoo adorning the smaller blond’s lower back, all the way down to his tailbone – and he couldn’t resist pulling Tino’s shirt up a little to see it fully.  It was black and white, the absent colors suggested by various shades of gray, and it represented a skeleton in a grotesque Santa outfit and heavy combat boots, one leg resting up on a pile of human bones. Just like Arthur had suggested, it was actually a Grim Reaper, only instead of the traditional scythe his bare bone fingers held an AKM and its torso was covered with bullet belts.

It was dreadful.

And _fucking amazing_.

And it turned him on tenfold, if that was even possible.Without thinking, Berwald dropped to his knees and put his mouth on the drawing, making the Finn groan and arch backwards as his tongue darted out to swirl over the inked lines.

“W-What the hell are you doing?! Fuck, I’m sensitive there…”

Tino’s skin was so soft and delicious to the touch, and the Swede couldn’t help digging his fingers and short nails into the other’s hips as he eventually clambered back up and pulled him closer. His movements grew clumsier with the ever escalating mixture of arousal and nervousness as he did his best to hurry up and not appear hesitant or worse, inexperienced. Still, he probably messed up, because finally being inside Tino was the most wonderful thing he’d felt in a long while.

The smaller blond was panting heavily at this point, throwing his head back against his bodyguard’s shoulder as Berwald’s thrusts became more and more erratic and rough, all control lost now. Still, he wasn’t complaining, his shaft hot and hard in the Swede’s hands and his hips snapping forward in the same rhythm.

“Wha-..Ffffff! What the f-fuck-…” the Finn groaned eventually, slumping forward in the aftermath of his climax, and Berwald realized with a pang of horror that he’d just said ‘I love you’ out loud.

* * *

 

From there everything went downhill on an absolutely epic scale, even if it hardly felt like it.

The scene from the club’s bathroom subsequently repeated itself in various forms in the Finn’s bedroom, his kitchen table, against a crumbling brick wall in a back alley. Berwald started drinking Vodka and walking Hanatamago every morning. He also basically moved out of his own apartment and into his boss’s, a thing which required some creative explaining to both Kohler and Chief Inspector Adnan. That and why Berwald was not making much progress with the case.

Still, the worst thing by far was his relationship with Tino, which was amazingly good in fact. It was also a lie and yet not a lie. A lie because he had an ulterior motive and not so much a lie because he was falling in love with the Finn. Even if Väinämöinen was a delinquent who had done time and who had openly threatened to kill him (and he had no doubt that the statement still stood, maybe all the more in the current circumstances!).

He didn’t want this to end, in any way, he didn’t want to part with the petite gun dealer. Still, his job needed to be done.

“So why are the Italians buying so many guns?” the detective asked randomly one day, when he and Tino were stacking some ammo boxes into the back room.

“Who knows, who cares,” Tino replied, pushing a box up the shelf. “I can only be happy that they’re buying _and paying_.”

Berwald took a deep breath, trying hard to seem casual about it. “But... how does this work? I mean if you don’t know what they’re up to, you could end up also selling to their enemies and then-...” He paused and swallowed involuntarily. “It could be ugly...”

The Finn turned and gave him a quizzical glance. “Berwald... okay, let me make some things clear: first and foremost I don’t give a fuck about any of these people and I’ve never made a secret out of it. Second, I never signed an exclusivity clause with anyone because that’s not how this business – or _any fucking business_ – works. Third – they get to try the stuff before they buy so they know I’m not double-crossing them with funny shit. Fourth – it would be fucking impossible to keep up to date or try to predict the dynamics of organized crime, like who’s gonna go after who’s ass tomorrow morning.”

Well, that made sense.

“Anyway, for now I guess they’re just new to this city and need to ‘consolidate’ their position. So they’re all about gathering men and gearing up, but the ‘honeymoon’ won’t last too long. So our current increase in turnover is temporary,” Tino added and sighed.

Berwald nodded slowly, signaling that his sudden curiosity had been satisfied. “But we’re not safe, are we?” Okay, that was a stupid question. There wouldn’t have been a gun tucked into the back of his belt if they had been. Safe.

Still, a week later the opportunity finally arouse for the Swede to find out where the Vargas brothers had their headquarters, when Tino asked him to help with a transport to their warehouse.  At that point, he still thought he was being careful about his work.

The Italians had their main set-up inside an abandoned chemical plant facility which, from the outside, barely looked like more than a couple of piles of scrap iron, loose pipes and brick ruins overgrown with weeds.  Still, he spotted several surveillance cameras and even motion detectors, both along the path from the main gate and inside the area of the facility where the supplies were delivered. They weren’t exactly understaffed either and aside from the men they’d recruited locally, Lovino Vargas had employed his own small private army of German and Swiss mercenaries, who – Tino estimated – probably cost a fortune but were worth every penny. Out of those, the Beilschmidt brothers the gun dealer was acquainted with – Ludwig and Gilbert – were the personal bodyguards of the Italian family.

But all this somehow didn’t add up to what the police had previously gathered on the Vargases, which was next to nothing – because they were supposedly always on the move and always one step ahead. The warehouse seemed fairly large and a considerable investment they apparently used to store ‘merchandise’ and whatnot, so it was hardly believable that all that stuff could just be moved elsewhere in the blink of an eye, or that no one had been able to locate it until now.

A certain suspicion formed in Berwald’s mind, but he momentarily chose to dismiss it, taken with the excitement of the discovery and in that moment he began to throw caution to the wind, without even realizing it. The place could be stormed by the police, with enough men and arsenal, the Swede pondered. Sure, it wasn’t going to be easy, the men inside were going to put up one hell of a fight, but they couldn’t resist forever. And even if the Italian brothers themselves were to escape the siege, assaulting their place and confiscating or destroying the thick of their property was going to be a massive blow to their business.

Having concluded that, the detective made up his mind: he had to go back alone later and scout the place for more precise information, so that what he eventually delivered to the Chief Inspector would bring about a significant progress with the case.

And that was the first bad decision he made.  

 

**_To be continued_ **

**_Reviews and comments are LOVE ;)_ **


	6. No courtesy

**NO COURTESY**

A/N – Hello my dear readers! I hope you’re well and here I am, back with a new chap and stirring some more shit…To that purpose I decided to alter the initial plot of the story and bring in some more action because Tino and Berwald deserve it ;) Also, thank you guys so much for the continued support!

* * *

 

While brewing some more coffee at the filter in the back room, Berwald had heard Tino on the phone with someone, his voice hushed, and as he walked back to the front of the store he found the Finn hunched over the counter, head in his hands. The sight instantly made him anxious – his employer slash boyfriend was always in a mood above average (except for the unfortunate episode when Sebastiano Vargas had barged in and had tried to rob them).

“What’s wrong?” the detective inquired cautiously, laying the steaming mugs down, next to Tino’s slouched form. “What happened?”

The petite blond sighed deeply, giving his phone a lazy spin against the hard wood of the counter. “Pfftt… shit happened. Say, the other day, when you asked me where I stand with my clients… did you…” he turned his head slightly, looking up and giving a thoughtful glance which sent a cold shudder down Berwald’s spine. “… have a foreboding or something?”

Berwald shook his head slowly, blinking. “Why? Who was on the phone?”

“Katya… The thing is, the Italians trespassed on their turf. They want to take it. Looks like the fuckers want to get their hands on the whole fucking city.”

 _Motherfucking-…_ Okay, this really surpassed the Swede’s worst nightmares (and the Chief Inspector’s, no doubt). The police department was aware that the Vargas family gearing up and recruiting could only mean some really bad stuff was brewing, but they’d hoped to get their hands on the Italians before they started a full-blown gang war and the streets got littered with corpses. This always happened with ‘newcomers’ sooner or later.

“So what’s happening now?”

Tino sighed again and straightened his back a bit, reaching for one of the mugs. “Fuck is happening now. Lovino Vargas is a _Sicilian_ – you know what that means, he’s built up an army and will just go full out. Ivan and his sisters… they’re really nice people, they don’t stir unnecessary shit, unless you come after what’s theirs. If you do, they unleash _fucking Stalingrad_ all over again,” he explained, producing a bottle of Vodka from below the counter and pouring some into his coffee.

Just as Berwald had feared. “…and where do we stand in this?”

“The fuck do I care, it’s not my war,” the Finn replied with a bitter snort, taking a gulp of his dubious beverage. He was putting a tough front, as always, but the anxiety was there.

“But the Russians are your friends!” the detective pointed. Somehow he doubted Väinämöinen would have just dropped them like that. Or maybe he would have?

“They are,” Tino confirmed. “So I gave them a hella discount, but what else can I do? I’m a supplier, not a soldier.” He smiled wryly when the other looked surprised. “I mean, it’s always been just me. And now you, but we still aren’t much.  Not to mention, I ain’t going to war for anyone, I never fired a gun aside from self-defense.”

Berwald allowed himself a small smile, adjusting his spectacles. “Arthur said you walked into a grocery store with a Kalashnikov…”

“I was _fifteen_!” Tino replied, rolling his eyes. “I just wanted some free snacks and some pocket money. And I didn’t fire either, didn’t have to.” Yeah, the Swede could bet on that.

“Speaking of, wh’re do the Magic Club stand in this?”

The Finn shrugged. “Aside, I think. They do finesse jobs and sweeping the street with a heavy machine gun is hardly a _finesse job_. Besides, they’re very keen on their neutrality and taking sides on a full-scale war would fuck their reputation.”

Meanwhile, Berwald struggled with shaping a quick action plan. He had to warn Adnan about this! He had to deliver the info on the Italians’ headquarters so that the police could storm it before anything started! But… he didn’t have all the data just yet and it was too late now to go investigating some more – if he left now, the Finn was going to think it very suspicious so Berwald had no choice but to remain by his employer’s side no matter what.

The detective wandered into the back of the store again, whipping his phone out the moment he was out of Tino’s sight. As quickly and relevantly as possible, he relayed to the Chief Inspector the news, as well as what he’d discovered so far about the Italians’ location. Ears alert to any sounds or to the Finn receiving or making any more phone calls, he hovered by the coffee filter pretending to wipe the small shelf on which it was placed with a tissue, until a discreet ring tone announced that he had a new message.

 _“Pull out immediately!”_ was the Chief Inspector’s only reply, even though Berwald could easily imagine him cursing and pacing back and forth like a lion in his smoke-infested office. The Swede’s hands began to shake slightly as he read the three words over and over again. He didn’t want to leave Tino, although probably Tino could take care of himself just fine and also, _could_ he actually leave? The shop had no back exit, the only way out was through the front door and how… Was he supposed to just try and dart out, hoping Tino wouldn’t come after him?

However, his terrible dilemma was eliminated very quickly.

The doorbell rang and Berwald turned on his heels on impulse, heading back, sweaty hand already on the gun tucked at the back of his belt.

The unexpected visitor turned to be none other than Ludwig Beilschmidt, one of the bodyguards of the infamous Vargas family. The solid blond’s face was impassive and unreadable as he gave Berwald a quick, assessing once-over before turning to Tino.

“Did you hear the news, Mr. Väinämöinen?” he asked simply, in lieu of any greeting. This was a bad sign.

“I’ve heard _some_ news, yeah, but I’m not sure I have the whole picture just yet,” the gun dealer replied cautiously. “What’s this about, anyway?”

Ludwig Beilschmidt took two steps forward, slowly, his expression unchanging. “I think you know what this is about. We are aware of your established policy in regard of your clients, but that won't be possible anymore. You will have to make a choice and Mr. Vargas is hoping you will make _the right_ choice.”

Tino stood up brusquely, his gaze narrowing. “Say _what_?” he demanded.

“Mr. Vargas greatly appreciates the quality of your products, and that’s why we need to make sure they don’t get distributed to any of our competition anymore, ” the German droned. “The offer we are willing to make you is very generous-”

“Or else what?!” the smaller blond cut him off, scowling openly now.

Beilschmidt said nothing, but lifted his chin and squared his shoulders.

“YOU MOTHERFUCKING SON OF A BITCH!” the Finn shouted. “When that sniveling brat of yours waltzed in here and shoved a gun in my face I think I was very courteous not to fuck him up, and this is what I’m getting in exchange, a _fucking ultimatum_! While if a five-year old would put a toy gun in your boss’s face you’d take them down no questions asked, yeah?! Because that’s what you’re like, you fucking garbage on legs!”

“Mr. Väinämöinen, throwing a tantrum is not going to help you,” the bodyguard said unfazed and a little patronizingly. “I’m just here to deliver a message and take back yours-”

But Tino had had enough and in the blink of an eye his twin Berettas were drawn, aiming straight at the German’s face and instinctively Berwald did the same, pointing his own gun at the intruder. “Well _your fucking body riddled with bullets_ could be a very good message! I think those fucking macaroni eaters would get it, don’t you think?!”

Beilschmidt didn’t even flinch.

“You have exactly six hours to make up your mind,” he informed them bluntly, before turning to leave. “In the meantime, we’re keeping an eye on you, so don’t even think of stepping out of these premises. If you try to escape, we will consider by default that your answer is negative and you will be taken down without any other warning.”

* * *

 

“Fuck…” Tino breathed out, slumping over the counter. “Now we are fucked. Fucked with capital ‘F’,” he concluded.

Berwald was still staring in utter disbelief at the large black van parked across the street, finding it hard to process how they’d gotten in a pinch so fucking fast. He had to give it to the damned Vargases, they’d surely been thinking things through before making their moves. Now there was really no way out for him! And Tino-…

“IF I DON’T SEE ANOTHER SLICE OF FUCKING PIZZA FOR AS LONG AS I LIVE IT WILL STILL BE TOO SOON!” the Finn roared suddenly, jumping to his feet and storming through the curtain behind him, and the detective heard a door slamming violently somewhere in the back.

“Shit…” The Swede whipped out his phone again and stared blankly at the screen. There were no new messages, but probably Adnan was anxiously waiting for an update. Letting out a shaky breath, he scrubbed a weary hand over his face and pushed his spectacles up on his nose before quickly typing down a message with the latest developments. After a few agonizing minutes during which he wrote, deleted, re-wrote a couple of lines and mentally cursed the text autocorrect, he finally pressed the send button. At the right time, as it turned out, because the gun dealer returned, a determined expression on his face.

“Berwald, come on. We need to pack some stuff,” he said bluntly.

“Wha-? But we can’t leave-”

“We can and we fucking will, just you watch!”

Taken by surprise by this sudden development, the Swede obeyed on autopilot, following Tino into the back room, where the petite blond had thrown two empty duffel bags on the floor.

“Fuck my luck, I never wanted to do this!” the Finn spat, tossing several boxes of ammo and heavy machine gun bullet belts into the bags. “I never wanted to be a fucking soldier!” Four Heckler&Koch MP5A submachine guns and five AKMs were swept off the racks and thrown in as well.

“We gonna go join the Russians?” Berwald asked, kneeling to zip the now full bags.

“Better the devil you know,” Tino replied warily, with a bitter smile. “I would have really liked to dispose of those fucks outside myself, but I don’t have the right tools,” he stated, sticking his bottom lip out in a childish pout he was probably not ever aware of. “But… Ber, if you don’t want to do this… I uh, I’ll understand.”

The detective looked up in shock – was the gun dealer really thinking of letting him go?! The phone vibrated discreetly in his back pocket, causing more beads of sweat to break on his forehead, but he ignored it, he deliberately ignored the message he didn’t even have to read. As crazy as it sounded, his mind was made up and he couldn’t leave Tino alone, not now and besides - his logic mind threw in – he’d be more useful to the Chief Inspector if he stayed in the front lines.

He rose to his feet and stepped over the bags, grabbing Tino’s face with both hands as he glanced deeply into those large, gorgeous lilac eyes. “You really think I’d leave you?!” He kissed the smaller blond square on the mouth, then pulled him flat against his chest, protectively. “You think I’m afraid to face these bastards?”

Tino sighed, snuggling closer. “You _should be_ afraid, motherfucker, they’ll be coming after us with all they’ve got…”

Not two minutes into their relaxed embrace a huge explosion shook the whole street and the shop windows exploded inwards,  blown by the blast. Berwald found himself on the ground, on top of Tino, ears ringing and glasses askew. A loud, alarmed bark was coming from the upstairs apartment, various screams could be heard outside and heavy smoke was beginning to invade the area. Coughing, he sat up on his knees and allowed the Finn to extract himself from under him.

“You okay?”

Berwald nodded, dizzy.

“Good! I’m going upstairs to take Hana, grab the bags and we’ll head for the exit.”

The front of the shop was a complete mess, shards littering the floor and the clothes racks hanging around, and the front door was barely holding on the upper hinges, glassless. Through the waves of smoke the Swede saw the still burning pieces of what had been the black van littering the asphalt, a lone tyre still rolling head on the road. The store across from Tino’s (which had been fortunately closed that day) had taken even heavier damage, the whole façade was gone, charred remains hanging around like a sinister frame and he could see smoldering remains inside. Sirens could already be heard in the distance and the Finn, who was now on the phone with someone and carrying the petite ball of fluff in his arms lead them through the debris out in the street.

There, a bit further away, the detective recognized the Russians’ van from that day at the shooting range. As they walked towards it, the side door slid open and Ivan Braginski himself came to view, a disturbing smile on his face.

“You had a bad day, da?” he asked innocently, as if talking about the weather. “Come on, hop in.”

As they did so, Berwald saw the icy-blonde beauty Natalya in one of the back seats, still donning impossibly high heels and short miniskirt, a last generation portable grenade launcher  resting in her lap.

**_To be continued_ **

**Reviews and comments are LOVE ;)**


	7. WAR - part 1

**WAR – part 1**

A/N – Hello everyone! Okay, so another month passed, might as well come up with an update. And it’s time to BRING UP THE ACTION!!! (I’m so fucking excited for this!) Enjoy ;)

_Eduard von Bock – Estonia_

_Raivis Galante – Latvia_

_Toris Laurinaitis – Lithuania_

(in case you didn’t know, but I have a strong suspicion you did…)

* * *

 

There was a knot in Berwald’s stomach as he sat down in the car and the full gravity of the situation finally descended on him. Damn it, he really wasn’t ready for something like this, fighting in a _gang war_ had never, _ever_ been part of the plan! And how the hell was he going to communicate with Adnan now?! He couldn’t just take out his phone and type away with all these people around him, it would have been suspicious as fuck!

Next to him, Tino sat slumped with his head in his hands and his face ashen, momentarily unable to get over the fact that his hand had been forced like this. Initially when the detective had thought of it, it had seemed rather impulsive that he’d so quickly rejected the Italians’ offer, which might have been indeed some good money, but maybe allowing himself to be pushed around by Lovino Vargas would have been a sign of weakness that would have lead to other trouble. After all, he didn’t know what or how much experience Tino had with these things, they’d never talked about it, but there must have been a reason why the Finn preferred to be on his own, without any affiliations, and keep a neutrality policy. Too bad that this time he’d been unable to reinforce it…

“So, this is bad, right? Blowing up their van like that?” the Swede asked rhetorically, risking to sound stupid and meanwhile observing the Russians’ expressions. They all looked surprisingly calm given the circumstances.

“We would have blown them up anyway sooner or later,” Natalya replied dryly. “But the sooner the better.”

“We have a tail,” the driver announced suddenly, Berwald noticing him for the first time. He was a smooth-looking guy with straight-cut blond hair and glasses, the teacher or maybe corporate worker type. Definitely not the gang member type. Where the hell was Ivan Braginski recruiting his men?

“Lose him, Eduard,” Ivan ordered. He stood from his seat, peering through the rear window. “It’s another black van, just like the first one,” he announced.

The detective felt the vehicle speeding up and taking a curb and took advantage of the fact that Tino and Natalya were already busy digging into one of the bags they’d brought, Ivan keeping an eye on their pursuers, and whipped out his phone with a trembling hand, finally checking the message he’d gotten earlier. It was a crazy risk, but the Chief Inspector needed to know that he was still on it.

 _“Report on your status, damn it!”_ That had been more than half an hour before and in the meantime the police must have been informed about the blast next to Tino’s shop. Maybe Adnan even thought he was dead.

 _“I can’t”_ he typed quickly, with his back turned, pretending to check something in his pockets. Then he put the phone back inside his jacket.

“I can’t go any faster, there’s too much traffic ahead!” Eduard informed them. “Get ready, they’re closing in on us!”

“And it looks like there’s two of them now,” Ivan added, pulling back from the window. Natalya picked up the grenade launcher, but the boss shook his head. “No, not while they’re moving, you could miss and it’s a crowded street. We limit civilian casualties, da? Even if it’s more work.” He leaned over and picked up an AKM from the bag, barely having time to snap a clip in place before the rear window exploded.

A cacophony of screams broke outside from the passers-by on the sidewalk as they ran for cover, scattered by the sudden gunfire. Berwald ducked on reflex, pulling the Finn down with him between the seats as broken glass rained over them and more bullets rapped against the metal of the car, along with Hana’s high-pitched, terrified barks. He saw the driver flinching violently and for a moment of absolute horror thought the man had been shot. But it was only a fleeting fit of insecurity before Eduard gripped the wheel firmly and a second later the van jolted slightly as its front brushed past the back of a parked car, shattering the rear lights and making it spin in its spot. Still, they went on without slowing, taking constant fire from behind.

“ _Suka blyat_!” Ivan cursed, straightening his back. “Another man with me, take positions!”

Tino stood without hesitation, weapon in hand, and stepped past the Swede to join Ivan. “Ber, get ready,” he told the detective. “If I’m hit, you take my place.”

Berwald winced at the gun dealer’s cold, mechanic words and inwardly cursed himself – he should have stood first instead of letting his employer do it. Damn it, the gnawing feeling that he’d gone against his superior’s orders and fucked up the mission was numbing his instincts and slowing him down! Also, it was quite obvious he didn’t have these people’s cold blood when it came to killing, or even getting themselves killed. On top of everything else, the phone buzzed inside his jacket.

Mumbling a silent swear, he grabbed the last AKM from the bag and stuck a clip on as Tino and the Russian quickly cleared off the glass remains from the rear window with the muzzles of their weapons and opened fire towards the pursuing vehicles.

“Hold it steady, Eduard,” Ivan instructed, sending a hail of bullets into the windshield of the closest black van.

The vehicle’s headlights were shattered and the driver pulled the wheel abruptly, trying to evade the line of fire. Not fast enough though, the windshield cracking in several spots and splattering with blood on the passenger’s side. Still, there was incoming fire from the people in the back seats and from the other van.

“Come on, come on,” Tino grumbled through gritted teeth, trying to aim at the driver. Just then, his own phone vibrated in his back pocket, startling him. “WHAT THE FUCK, _I’M BUSY_! Berwald, see who it is!”

The Swede reached out and plucked the device, fearing it was Vargas and really not wanting to hear what other shit that bastard might have had to say. “It’s Kirkland,” he announced with obvious relief.

“Well you answer it!”

“Arthur?”

_“Yo mate, we thought we’d stop by and pay you fine lads a quick visit, but, um... the shop doesn’t look too well. Where the hell are you?! Is Tino okay?”_

Berwald groaned. “We’re fine, but the Vargas family moved in on us and we had to flee. We’re on the run now.”

 _“What, they made you ‘an offer you couldn’t refuse’? Fuck mate, you know how they say, Hell is where everything is run by Italians,”_ the Englishman chuckled at the other end of the line, just before someone else there with him added ‘and where the chefs are British’.

The detective scowled. “Wait, how do you know that?”

“ _What?_ ”

“How do you know they made Tino an offer?”

_“I figured that much, mate, it’s not too hard. See, they made us an offer too, along with everyone who’s normally ‘neutral’. Except it was more of a threat than an offer and I really didn’t appreciate it. Also, Lovino told Alin ‘you’re Romanian, so that’s like half-Italian’. No doubt the fucker meant it as a compliment but it was massive backfire!”_

“So I’m guessing you didn’t take it...”

_“Fuck no. Anyway, stay safe, yeah mate?”_

“Sure. You too.”

“WHAT DID HE WANT?” Tino yelled over the gunfire and dog barks, not turning, just as the Russian boss finally managed to gun down the driver and the pursuing vehicle swayed out of the road, tyres screeching, eventually crashing into a pole on the sidewalk.

“JUST TO KNOW IF WE’RE OKAY!” the Swede shouted back, seizing the opportunity to check his own phone and read the last message from the Chief Inspector.

_“Just activate your GPS.”_

He did so without delay before stuffing both his and Tino’s phone into his jacket pockets. There was still one van left raining bullets on them and by now also some police sirens were heard, not so far away in the distance.

“Oh shit!” Berwald cursed under his breath. _Not the police, not the police, fuck!_ What if, once their opponents disposed of, Tino and Ivan were also going to open fire against the police? He as an officer couldn’t just stand by and do nothing, even if it was very little he _could_ do if the others decided to go down that road. Still, Braginski had expressed his wish to limit what he’d called ‘civilian casualties’, although he wasn’t too sure the police qualified as that. Probably not. Also, what if it came to them being arrested? If that happened his whole mission would be blown and he didn’t want Tino arrested either. Not that this wasn’t going to be a problem either way, one that just now – at the worst moment possible – popped into his mind yet again! 

“Hey, Ber, you okay there?”

There was another jolt as the vehicle took another curb at full speed, Tino losing his balance slightly and gripping the detective’s shoulder for support before slipping back into his seat. It turned out that Eduard had managed to get an exit through a side street and into a back alley, finally getting rid of the Italians.

“We lost them for now, da,” Ivan confirmed, pulling back as well and slumping into a seat in turn, sighing in exhaustion.

Berwald took a deep breath, relieved, then noticed there was a thin trail of blood running across the Finn’s cheek, almost from his mouth to his ear. “Tino! You’re hurt!”

“Just a scratch, they _nearly_ got me,” the gun dealer replied with a wry smile, wiping it quickly with the back of his hand which did very little as tiny crimson droplets resurfaced almost instantly against the flushed skin. “But you don’t look that well, Ber. I told you that you could-”

“No, no! I just didn’t think they’d be upon us like this, so hell-bent on wiping us out,” the Swede explained, licking his lips nervously as he took his employer’s phone out of his pocket and returning it. To hide his distress, he picked up the small ball of fluff and soothed her in his arms, making her stop barking and squealing. “Arthur was telling me they even threatened the Magic Club, now I really didn’t think they’d go that far.”

“My friend, the world is full of crazy motherfuckers, da,” Ivan said amused, dropping the AKM back in the bag. “Luckily not all of them have the means to start a riot like that, but there’s just about enough of them to give you trouble.”

In the meantime Eduard got them through several deserted back streets, until they left the clutter of buildings behind, heading for the outskirts of the city, into an area filled with old warehouses, abandoned plants and various decrepit constructions.  They drove for a while, until a medium-walled enclosure suddenly loomed up front, thick rolls of barb wire adorning the top of the brick fences. In the middle it had a solid, metal double gate which slid sideways, allowing the van to pass through into a large, concrete courtyard surrounding what looked like an old office building.  

Berwald felt a tad wobbly on his feet as he got off but picked up the weapon bags regardless. Damn it, he’d shown enough weakness until now, if he wanted to protect Tino he had to be up to whatever was thrown his way.

Ivan led them inside the building, the interior looking surprisingly better than the crumbling outside and showed the pair to a shared bedroom of sorts, several bunk beds aligned along the walls. He explained that it was where his men were housed at times like this, when he had to gather all of his forces together. Several bags with personal belongings were scattered on some of the beds, but apparently there were more men to come in until nightfall.

“The Vargas family will come for us with all they’ve got and they’ll try to storm this place, but not right now. Not today I think. Use the time to get some rest,” Ivan advised. “We’ll have a briefing later on, when everyone’s here, to let you know where we stand and what the defense plan is.”

“Do you think the Vargas siblings will fight too, alongside their men? I mean if they have bodyguards…” the Swede asked, as Tino lowered Hana on one of the beds and then plopped beside her, running a tired hand through tousled bangs.

“I’m sure they will, it would look bad to their men if they didn’t,” the gun dealer stated. “Sicilians got this fucked up ‘code of honor’ they stick to, I heard. Besides, it’s not like they have any qualms about drawing their guns, everyone who has ever lead a gang started from the bottom, with very few exceptions.”

The detective sighed, biting on his bottom lip. “And do you think that kid – Sebastiano - will fight too?” He really hoped not, the youngest Vargas was just a child, even if he’d showed delinquent potential already. Although how could he not, growing up in such a family?

“I don’t know, I mean he did have a gun the other day,” Tino mused, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “But maybe he’d stolen it, judging by his brother’s reaction…”

“Or maybe they’ll think this is a good opportunity for the little one to ‘make his bones’, like they say, da,” Ivan observed.

“But he’s just-” _…a kid, but they probably don’t care that much about that… “_ I mean he’s kind of clueless, apparently bad at following orders too… He could fuck up big time, even turn out to be a liability!” Only that wasn’t a bad thing as far as they were concerned and furthermore, no actual reason for Berwald to press this subject.

Ivan sighed and shook his head. “That’s why we don’t recruit anyone under twenty, da… And I don’t want to fight a child either, if that makes it any easier for you. I’d rather not fight anyone actually, but as you know it wasn’t me who started this. Now get some rest, you’ll need it.”

At the first opportunity, the detective snuck away to the bathroom and quickly typed a full update on the situation to the Chief Inspector, taking his time to wait for instructions. Adnan wrote back almost immediately, asking him to let them know at the first sign of the Italian’s approaching their location. Maybe this was a good chance to bag the bastards after all and see his mission fulfilled, that if he survived the next day. He’d rather not think about how he was going to keep Tino out of this mess yet.

**_To be continued_ **

**Reviews and comments are LOVE ;)**

Suka blyat! = Fucking bitch! (Russian) 


	8. WAR - part 2

**WAR – part 2**

A/N – Hello my dear readers! I am finally back with a new chapter (as usual I never update when I mean to…pffft; also, I’m an AMAZING procrastinator!) and it’s time to bring up some more action, because hell, don’t we fucking live for it. So enjoy today’s update ;)

 ** _Warning_** : multiple character death

* * *

 

“Ivan’s been in the military?” Berwald asked, pointing at the detailed scheme the Russian boss had drawn on the large whiteboard occupying most of the back wall of his ‘meeting room’.

“He and Katya both,” the gun dealer confirmed. “But Ivan also has some command experience, so he knows how to deal with this sort of shit. Or so he says, anyway…”

“Alright, listen up everyone,” Ivan began, holding up a file and motioning to the empty space on the board. “I’ve got here some pictures of the Vargas family and their key staff, da. If you happen to see any of these people, you gun them down no questions asked, because they will do the same to you, not for one second allow yourselves to think otherwise.” He let his gaze trail over the people piled up in the room, as if to gauge their reaction. “So, let’s start.”

The Russian pulled out a printed sheet from the file and pinned it up. “Lovino Vargas, the head of the family and chief of operations.” It was a candid photo of the Italian, one in which, surprisingly, he wasn’t donning the infamous, anachronistic mustache, the change making him look much younger. “One thing - he’s Sicilian and not in a good way. If you’ve seen ‘The Godfather’, he’s nothing like that. He’s got no class, no structure and no reasonableness; he’s a fucktard and a very dangerous one. He’ll go full out with everything he’s got and he’s got a lot unfortunately.”

Ivan paused for a moment, then pulled out another picture, this time of someone who looked still in their teens. At first, Berwald thought – feared - it was Sebastiano, but this person was very different. Their slender body had an almost feminine allure, emphasized by the striking choice of clothing – very short denim shorts matched with black combat boots and a light, delicate white dress shirt.

“Feliciano Vargas, the younger sibling and Lovino’s right hand, da,” Ivan stated. “He’s nicknamed ‘Venetiano’ because a few years ago he’d been hospitalized in a mental institution in Venice. He burned down half of it and got away without a single scar, if you can believe it. Anyway, tactically speaking he’s a loose cannon but he’s very skilled and dangerous.”

“Feliciano Vargas is crazy?” Berwald whispered, rather baffled by that piece of information. “You talked to them both, didn’t you?”

“Fuck, I don’t know, Lovino did most of the talking anyway and it was enough to get me dizzy. He didn’t look crazy to me but a lot of crazy people don’t _look_ crazy,” the Finn replied with a shrug.

Next, Ivan pulled out two pictures he pinned together, in one of which the detective clearly recognized the bulky German who had given Tino the ultimatum earlier. He was relieved that at least Ivan was done with the family and Sebastiano hadn’t been marked as a target.

“Gilbert and Ludwig Beilschmidt. German, both ex-military. They usually act as the bodyguards of the Vargas brothers, but we have reasons to believe that they’re actively engaged in operations and will probably be in the first line of fire. Priority! If you get a clear shot, take them down asap.”

Ivan cleared his throat and pinned up the last picture, tossing the empty file onto the nearby coffee table. “Vash Zwingli,” he said, motioning with his head at the frontal snapshot of a blond man with harshly cut chin length hair and a glare so cold that it could have frozen Hell itself. Berwald didn’t remember seeing him when they’d delivered the last transport to the Italians’ headquarters, but the sight sent a chill down his spine. “Swiss, also ex-military, commands his own team of mercs – five people, extremely well trained.  _Top priority_. The fuckers even wear military uniforms.”

“But if he’s so elite how’d he end up with Vargas?” another one of Ivan’s men who looked nothing like a thug - a young Lithuanian named Toris - asked.   

The ashen-blond chuckled humorlessly. “Elite means just one hell of a fee, not upholding a good reputation and not mixing with the slime-” he cut himself off abruptly when his phone suddenly rang. “They’re coming! Everyone, take positions!”

Berwald saw his boyfriend bite his lip, a deep frown creasing his brow as he stood and walked briskly towards the exit. He quickly followed up the stairs to the third floor, a Heckler & Koch MP5A3 full-auto submachine gun clutched in his already sweaty hands, along with Ivan and his two sisters.

“I think they’re gonna fire at the gate,” a man who was already at one of the windows informed the boss.

“But that’s crazy! I mean it’s not like such a blast will go unnoticed, someone’s gonna call the police!” the Swede pointed. “They don’t want to mess with-”

“They don’t give a fuck about the police, not when they have a fucking army! If the police come they’ll be crushed like bugs,” Ivan replied, waving his hand dismissively.

In the next moment a deafening blast resounded outside, making the glass of the windows shake, and in the same time one of the windows broke with a dry popping sound and the man standing in front of it collapsed backwards, cleanly shot in the head.

“Fuck, they’ve got a sniper somewhere across the street! Take cover, get out of their view!” the Russian yelled, grabbing the teen who had stood next to the victim by the scruff of his neck and pulling him away from the window. The boy was in complete shock, eyes fixed on the widening crimson puddle at his feet, the AKM shaking in his hands.

“Raivis,” Ivan said with unexpected gentleness. “Go in the back.”

The words seemed to make him finally snap out of his trance. “B-But I can fi-”

“I know, but not right now. Go in the back.” The boss sighed. “An unstable man is a hazard,” he said after the boy had left. “If anyone else is presently pissing their pants, get out of here now. In case you haven’t figured this out already, it  _will_  be very bad.”

Berwald had figured it out alright, they’d ended up in a fucking warzone! He saw Tino calmly digging into his back pockets and pulling out his phone and a set of earplug headphones which he connected and put in, while Natalya and Yekaterina pushed forward two Browning M2 heavy machine guns with customized front shields, already loaded with bullet belts. The Finn calmly scrolled and picked his playlist while Ivan and another man shattered two windows with baseball bats to make way for the long muzzles.

“Toris, there’s a sniper across the street, can you get a visual?” Ivan inquired his subordinate, who was currently on the floor below with Eduard.

“ _Negative_.”

The detective found the sight rather disturbing, but then it occurred to him that maybe tuning noise out was Tino’s way of mentally escaping something which would have otherwise been too much. But how the hell was he going to hear Ivan’s instructions over the ensuing cacophony? Regardless, he pretended to do the same, using this opportunity to rapidly send a text to the Chief Inspector that they were already under fire. Unfortunately, he had no way of ascertaining just how many the Italians’ men were and what sort of weapons they’d brought, the thought of his fellow policemen going blindly against them making his stomach cringe. Technically the police was always ready to deal with bad shit, but open street wars were-

Just as he pressed the send button another blast made the ground shake, this time making plaster rain down on them from the already cracked ceiling.

“The gate is down!” Ivan announced, again on the phone with someone. “Get ready,” he told the girls. “When the smoke clears out a bit they’ll storm in! Don’t let them reach the building, da?”

Berwald peered around the window frame out in the courtyard and at the now gaping hole flanked by blackened and contorted metal and debris. A black van was parked in front of it, doors closed and he expected it to open before the vehicle suddenly being hit by a grenade shot from one of the lower levels and going up in flames. Nothing seemed to happen afterwards, just burning bits raining down onto the ground. Meanwhile Tino was scouting something through the scope of his weapon.

“Do you see them? The sni-?” the Swede inquired, forgetting there was little chance of his voice getting through. His phrase was cut short when another explosion resounded, this time much closer, deafening and the ground shook under his feet. The building had been hit.

“Toris! Toris, answer me!” Ivan yelled into the phone, just as several bikers invaded the courtyard, armed with semi-automatic weapons and throwing hand grenades at the building and the vehicles parked outside. The heavy machine guns began barking in sync, swiping the courtyard over the explosions smoke, the rapping sound mostly drowned by the blasts. Shards and debris blew inwards over the shooters and the detective barely managed to cover his face with his sleeve to avoid getting it.

“Vash Zwingli’s team! Priority!” the Russian boss yelled over the noise, but the bikers had already withdrawn, leaving two black-helmeted corpses behind. But now the snipers – because there seemed to be several of them began pounding the windows and it looked like the news Ivan was getting over the phone weren’t good.

 _Where the fuck is the police?!_ Berwald screamed inwardly, trying to focus his hearing and eyes watering from the smoke. He’d barely fired two-three shots for show until now, probably not hitting anything.

“ _Haista vittu!_ ” Tino hissed, firing his gun once, twice, three times. “Two down!” he announced, giving the girls a thumbs up.

“They’ll be back with bigger shit, the bikers were just reconnaissance,” Yekaterina said. “They wanted to see our fire power.”

Her assumption turned correct when a large SUV entered the courtyard, the lid on its roof open, offering the muzzle of a machine gun to view through a customized opening, such that the shooter was fully protected.  

“Armored vehicle,” she said. “But they’ll get out eventually, when they think it’s safe enough.”

The machine gun swiped at the windows, starting with the ground floor and the girls fired back at it, concentrating the hail of bullets on the windshield and the top lid. The bikers returned as well, throwing more grenades at the entrance. Berwald almost leaned over the windowsill as he now fired freely at the attackers below, close enough to Tino to hear the heavy metal blasting in his boyfriend’s headphones.  Nearby, Natalya had fired so many cartridges from her Browning M2 that her impossibly high heels were half-buried into the shells pooling at her feet.

“Alright, enough of this shit,” she said, momentarily leaving the protection of the steel shield to grab her discarded portable grenade launcher. “They probably thought we were out of ‘breath’ already...”

Exposing herself fully to the incoming fire, the icy blonde leaned over the broken window and fired twice, straight at the SUV. In the next moment, the vehicle went up in flames, the wind and heat of the explosion making Ivan’s team fall back momentarily. The view in the courtyard below was dismal – smoke, fire, charred parts and corpses littering the ground, several overturned motorcycles – but the odds weren’t in their favor, even if, as soon as the ringing died and his hearing returned somewhat, Berwald could hear approaching police sirens.

“Toris and Eduard are dead,” Ivan informed them, phone clutched angrily in his hand. “And they’ve gotten in, the fucking bastards!”

“We need to get out of here,” the Finn yelled at him, over the machine-guns’ resumed rapping, pulling the headphones from his ears and shaking his head. “It’s just too many of them! We can’t-”

“But the police is coming! They’re fucked, Vargas is fucked, they must pull out!” the detective pointed.

But no one else saw it as a blessing, for obvious reasons. “Yeah, like that’s another problem,” Tino said with a grimace, “Last thing we need is to get our asses busted, on top of everything else…”

“Oh, fuck, I just saw Venetiano,” Yekaterina announced.

“Did you get him?!”

“ _Niet_ , he was too fast! He’s on a motorcycle, he went in!”

“Okay, we’re moving out!” Ivan decided, shoving his phone in his pocket and grabbing his own gun as he motioned towards the exit.

They pulled back from the windows and headed for the door, guns at the ready. The other remaining man from the boss’s team went out first, then announced the others that the coast was clear. So far at least, because heavy gunfire could still be heard from the floors below. On the stairs they found Raivis who had been trying to get to them but had collapsed near the wall, the wound in his hip making it impossible for him to move. Ivan scooped him up and threw him over his shoulder, among the kid’s whimpered apologies and pained moans.

And then Berwald saw him – Vash Zwingli was momentarily turned to the side, roughly cropped hair mussed by the biker helmet he’d discarded and framing that cold, unforgiving face which looked as if the man had a grudge on the whole fucking world. His right hand held an army knife, the blade soaked in the darkened blood which covered his arm right up to his rolled-up uniform sleeve. The Swede’s hands moved instinctively, lifting the gun and pulling the trigger before the other even got the chance to turn his head.    

“Fuck…” he breathed out in shock, realization sinking in as he stared at the mercenary’s corpse, now lying in a pool of his own blood. He hadn’t even warned the man, given him a chance, he’d just-… But he’d had no choice, _no fucking choice_! Numbly, he forced his feet forward behind Tino and the others, doing his best to avoid looking at the other corpses.

The group went down another flight of stairs, to the first floor, which had taken much heavier damage. The windows and surrounding chucks of wall had been turned to shattered debris, mortar and shards now cracking beneath their feet, and the air was heavy with smoke and the smell of gunpowder.  More corpses lay on the ground, some unrecognizable, but Ivan didn’t linger to identify the casualties anyway. He’d already sent a message to all his men – what remained of them – to flee the building and go to various safehouses, just as his group was planning to. He’d count the dead later.

“Veeee, you’re not going anywhere,” a voice suddenly drawled, accompanied by the quick rapping of a semi-automatic gun, and the man by Ivan’s side collapsed forward. And then Feliciano Vargas showed up from around a bullet hole-littered pillar, looking like a fucking Diesel jeans ad, two modified Berettas 92FS pointing at the group as he grinned deviously.

“Die, you fucking bitch!” Natalya yelled, aiming her pistol, but the Italian fired both his guns first, before any of the others could react, and she fell backwards with a yelp, clutching her shoulder. Berwald felt something like a hot spike grazing his side, just before he saw a hand grenade rolling down in their direction.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Tino cursed between gritted teeth as he pulled away from the group and kicked it backwards, in the direction where the Italian had disappeared. “Come on!”

The five of them made a beeline for the last flight of stairs to the ground, then through a corridor leading to the fire exit in the back, where Tino and Yekaterina gunned down another three mercenaries. Outside, past what was left of the gate, another war was now raging on, a megaphone-transmitted voice repeatedly demanding cease fire. Ivan led them among the large trash containers in the small backyard to another gate, opening into a garbage-infested alley. But there was an SUV there waiting and the group got in, Ivan taking the wheel after dumping Raivis in the back.

“Fuck,” Tino groaned, tiredly scrubbing a hand over his face. “I forgot Hana…”

**_To be continued_ **

Haista vittu = fuck you/go smell a cunt (A big thank you to **pinzcu** for the input)

**Reviews and comments are LOVE ;)**


	9. Gun to the head

**Gun to the head**

A/N – Hello everyone! Currently I am having some time off work and, aside from doing my best to clear my head after a very weird and agitated summer, I’ll be trying to catch up on my fics. So I’m making an effort to get things done around here, as much as possible and write as many chaps as I can before the break is over. That being said, enjoy today’s update!

* * *

 

The ‘safe house’ they finally got to was small and dark, looking like it hadn’t been used in quite some time. It was located in a decrepit apartment building with odd-smelling hallways and flickering bulbs half-buried in cobwebs. They’d left the car in the back alley and Ivan had prompted Berwald to pull down the fire-escape ladder, the group making their way up quietly to the fifth floor, weapons still at the ready. It turned out no one had used the spare key hidden under the moldy ‘welcome’ rug in front of the door, no one else had made it here yet aside from them.

The apartment itself was more than a little unwelcoming, cramped with old furniture and other cheap stuff lying around in disorder, the windows covered with dusty, fractured wooden blinds. The air inside was stale and had the same mold smell of the rest of the building, probably coming from the walls from which the tacky, fading flowery wallpaper was peeling off in large chunks.

Yekaterina had busied herself with opening the windows as Ivan had carried Raivis into the bedroom, settling him on the large double-bed before getting on the phone with their ‘house doctor’. The boy and Natalya needed to be seen to as soon as possible.

“Katya!” the Russian boss called from the bedroom. “Call the Magic Club and tell them to make a full assessment of the situation once _the_ _smoke clears_.”

Tino discarded his weapon and plopped limply on the shabby living couch, stirring up a cloud of dust and the Swede could do little else than to curl up next to him, eyes nearly closing with fatigue. His side burned and stung and his shirt felt wetly sticking to the skin, but he didn’t want to look, not now. He didn’t want to think what had happened to the police, if Kohler had been sent out on the field or not, he didn’t want to think about gunning down Vash Zwingli without as much as a warning. At least Tino was safe… for now. He just wanted to sleep. 

“Well that was a fuck-up…” the Finn concluded with a deep sigh, throwing his head back against the backrest, his expression forlorn. “I didn’t realize they were so many and that they had so much stuff! I don’t know why the fuck they needed me so much, or why they needed me at all. Most of the stuff they didn’t get from me, so…”

“Maybe it was just a maneuver,” Ivan offered, coming out of the bedroom and pulling the bloodstained shirt over his head. “Maybe Vargas knew you were friends with us so he got you a small business deal to make you – and us – think he was putting up an average-size crew for which he just needed regular supplies. And it worked to some extent, because that was what you thought, da. He let you see the mercs, but without gears they weren’t that impressive, were they?”

“I guess…”

“Anyway, it didn’t occur to me either that we’d need to have a fortress built to deal with a full-on war when I came to this fucking country, da,” the ashen-blond admitted with a sigh. He went on to say something else, but the detective didn’t catch it, the words fading in his ears as fatigue finally overtook him.

* * *

 

When he next woke up, a few hours seemed to have passed because outside the sky was completely dark and several lamps had been lit around the apartment. He was shirtless and some bandages had been wrapped around his torso, feeling stiff and a tad too tight. Someone had taken off his glasses and set them on the coffee table in front of the couch. Berwald groaned slightly, sitting up and reaching for them. His side still ached, but the burn had dulled somewhat.

“What’s going on? H-How long have I been asleep?”

“Just a couple of hours, but you were out good. The doctor patched you up,” his boyfriend replied from where he sat at the other end of the sofa, curled up with his knees to his chest and scrolling on his phone. They were momentarily alone in the living, Ivan and Yekaterina probably cooped up in the bedroom with the wounded. “It was just a scratch though, only needed some cleaning up.”

The Swede nodded slowly, still groggy, reaching for his own phone in his back pockets. It was gone.

Fear spiked through him instantly at the discovery, effectively chasing away all remnants of sleep. Where was it?! Had he dropped it somewhere? And if so, what if someone had found and taken it? What if- He hadn’t passworded his phone – it was a way not to arouse suspicion if Tino was ever to check on it, he’d simply preferred to promptly delete all messages from Kohler and the Chief Inspector as soon as he got them and their numbers weren’t saved in his address book, he’d memorized them instead.  But now if someone had gotten their hands on his phone and a message had arrived asking for updates in the meantime, he was fucked!

Making an effort to steady his breathing, the detective glanced at Tino circumspectly over the rim of his glasses. Still, there was nothing suspicious in the other’s demeanor.

“Uh… did you see my phone?”

Tino looked up from his own device and gave him a questioning glance. “Nope,” he offered with a head shake. “Did you lose it?”

“Must’ve dropped from my pocket at some point or something…” the other muttered. “So, what’s going on now?”

“Ugh, we wait I guess. Arthur’s on his way here,” the Finn said, tiredly rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm. “Looks like things got ‘wrapped up’ in the end and Magic Club went to…um… count the dead, assess the damage, stuff like that. Anyway, Ivan got hammered good, so…”

“You okay?”

Tino stared in his lap, sighing. “Well I kind of… I don’t know, maybe I panicked back there and didn’t think this through. I mean my shop is gone, those shits must’ve taken all of my stuff. I do have something left in my bank account but it’ll be kind of hard to start all over again and… fuck. Now I’m thinking we could have said yes to Vargas and then find a way to screw him over and disappear later on.”

“Vargas could have asked you to fight against Ivan,” the detective stated. “That would have been a problem, don’t you think? And the move would have looked bad to Ivan regardless of your real intent to screw Vargas.”

Speaking of, the Russian walked into the living-room a moment later.

“Natasha okay?” Tino piped up, with genuine concern.

“Da, she is. Raivis was a bit more work, but he’s out of danger. I do hope the macaroni bastard kicked the buck-” He was cut off brusquely when the doorbell rang, effectively startling everyone in the room.

Tino jumped up, instantly reaching for his weapon which was propped at the foot of the sofa. Ivan’s Walther P99 was also out as he motioned for the two of them to stay put while he crept silently towards the door. A glance through the peephole put his mind at ease though and he opened it, letting a certain eccentric Englishman in, accompanied by excited, high-pitched dog barks.

“HANA!!!” The white ball of fluff jumped from Kirkland’s arms, instantly spotting her owner and rapidly making her way through Ivan’s legs. Tino lifted her up and pressed a loud kiss on the black button nose, a broad grin widening on his face. “How’d you find her?!” 

“Cooped up in some prison-looking bedroom, mate,” Arthur replied, plopping into an armchair and stirring some more dust. “I don’t even want to think what you used that for _, comrade_ ,” he told Ivan with a naughty smile. “Oh,” he added, digging into the oversized pocket of the taupe-colored trench-coat he was wearing over skinny black jeans and a band t-shirt. “I think this is yours?” He offered Berwald his phone with a black-nailed hand, the screen cracked a bit.

“Uh, thanks. How did you-” Berwald grumbled awkwardly, before realizing that Tino’s smiling photo he had for wallpaper must have been the only clue the Englishman had needed.

“So how are things down there?” the Russian asked finally, putting a whiskey glass in Arthur’s hand.

The green-eyed blond took a large gulp out of it and shook his head. “Well, first of all, no point in doing a _stock-take_ , mate. Police got hold of everything in the building, we just made it in and out very quickly and just in time. We couldn’t pick up any of your toys. Other than that, place is trashed and we counted at least fifty corpses inside. There were more outside but the police was very close by, we didn’t risk it. We did catch their frequency later on for more info.”

“What happened to Vargas?” the detective asked, not daring to be too hopeful.

“Well, they thought they could push through the police blockade and get away and they almost did. _Almost_. Lovino was arrested without as much as a scratch, if you believe it, but his siblings weren’t so lucky. Venetiano was wounded pretty badly and the kid Sebastiano is dead. So are the Beilschmidt brothers and Vash Zwingli with his whole smartass team. To sum it up, you could say they’re finished.”

Sebastiano was dead. Berwald felt his stomach churning and bile rising in his throat. Had the kid been among the bikers they’d gunned down?! He knew he’d gotten at least two of them himself, so what if-

“The police did it?” he asked absently, interrupting Arthur, who had moved to another topic now.

“What?”

“Kill Sebastiano…”

Arthur gave him a quizzical glance, then sighed. “They did actually. Venetiano was the only sibling actively involved in the attack, Lovino and the kid had stayed back at the ‘command center’. But when the cops cornered them they went out and started shooting.”

“Bastards, he was just a child,” Ivan stated.

“He was a fucking idiot, mate, this ain’t the bloody _Matrix_. People need to be realistic with their odds, you know?”

Berwald couldn’t listen to this conversation any longer so he just stood up and stumbled into the bathroom, slamming the door after him. Dropping his glasses on the edge of the sink, he generously splashed cold water onto his face and hair, rubbing it in furiously as he tried to fight off the feeling of almost-nausea nestled in his stomach. In the sharp neon light the cracked mirror showed a sickly off-white, barely recognizable face with deep dark circles around the eyes, the face of a haunted man.

The Italians had finally been apprehended, but it felt like little accomplishment now, the costs had been too high and the complications too extensive. And now he was expected to pull out, leave his cover behind. But how to do that, how to disappear just like that?! And Tino… he didn’t want to get Tino arrested or worse, in trouble with Ivan! In fact, his heart sank at the thought of leaving the Finn at all, he didn’t want-…

He found his shirt put to dry on a hanger, damp on the side with hole, but at least most of the blood had been cleaned out. Pulling it over his head and carefully covering the bandages, the Swede replaced his glasses on his nose and pulled out his phone, staring at the cracked screen thoughtfully. Maybe he could-

“Hey Ber, you okay in there?!”

The sudden knocking broke his train of thought and he shoved the phone back into his pocket, hurrying to get out. Tino was staring at him in a suddenly odd fashion, half-concern and half composure on the edge of cracking.

“Yeah, I’m fine. What’s the matter?”

The gun dealer bit his bottom lip briefly, stuffing his hands in his pockets, uncomfortable. “Just-… Let’s go get some air, yeah?” he said, motioning curtly with his head towards the door.

“What?! But-” Berwald met the Englishman’s intent stare, but next to him Ivan looked oblivious, clearly preoccupied by other things. “It might not be safe outside, what if-”

“Come on,” Tino prompted again, all but pulling him towards the door.

Something was definitely up all the sudden, Berwald knew it instinctively, because they went out and down the stairs in a hurry, leaving their weapons behind. Maybe in the short time he’d been in the bathroom Tino had decided to walk out on Ivan, considering the police must have been looking for the Russians now. And Kirkland must have been aware of it too, considering the glances discreetly exchanged between the two. Still, he didn’t ask anything until they were back in the concrete courtyard behind the apartment building, but once there Tino, who had been walking ahead, turned around brusquely and pointed one of his Berettas in Berwald’s face.

“Tino, what-?”

“YOU _FUCKER_ , YOU’RE A COP!” the Finn shouted, teeth gritted in an expression of pure agony.

The detective took a step back, momentarily too stunned to even breathe. Fear coursed through him like a hot spike, mixed with pain. He was fucked. No need for planning any further.

“L-Look, it’s not-”

“Do you fucking remember what I told you when I gave you the job?! You betray me, I fucking kill you! Did you think I was joking, you motherfucker?!”

Tino’s chest heaved with each labored breath he took, bitter disappointment and hurt written all over his face. That was it, right there. The end. Berwald was losing him too, along with his chance of surviving this mission. The Swede bowed his head, arms dropping by his sides in defeat. He might as well come clean before it was all over, his lover had the right to know.

“Yes. I’m a cop,” he nodded slowly. “I took the job with you as an undercover mission. I’m sorry.”

A loud sob reached his ears and he looked up again to see tears streaming freely from those beautiful, large lilac eyes and the gun pointed at Berwald’s head wavering ever so slightly.

“I’m sorry too, Ber… But I’m not going back to prison”.

**_To be continued_ **

A/N – If you’re also a fan of GerIta or just looking for a good laugh, you’re also welcome to check my latest published (and completed work) – The Love for Words That Lead to War. Seriously, it’s the ultimate trollfic. Also a big shout-out to my fellow author **Letsnottalkaboutitaye** , her works are amazing and she updates really fast too (unlike _other_ people we know J)))).

**Reviews and comments are LOVE ;)**


	10. Fuck-up

**Fuck-up**

A/N – Hello my dear readers! Do you know what this looks like? – it just hit me. Like Dr. Harleen Quinzel  and Joker in Suicide Squad, just that kind of romance (the fucked-up to the core kind, that is). And it will be more and more like it, says the optimist - not to say that Tino is anything like the Joker, but come on, he’s a bad boy with about zero excuses as to why he does what he does. Still, he’s cute, we get that, don’t we? :P

* * *

 

“I never wanted to hurt you,” Berwald stated, straightening his back. If this was the end… And it probably was, he’d never seen Tino joke about anything serious, or ever drop his boundaries. Or his guard. “And you were never a target, I swear, my mission was only to get the Italians all along. And I wouldn’t have taken the job in your shop if I hadn’t seen Lovino Vargas walk out of it!”

The Finn snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah?!... and what, what was going to happen next, huh?! Like, now Vargas is done for, the police got him-… no, _you_ got him, so what next? What exactly were you planning to do _now_?” Tears continued to stream down his cheeks, gleaming in the faint street lamplight, and he wasn’t even wiping them off. “You were gonna bring us all in, weren’t you?!”

The Swede moved forward brusquely, without thinking, and managed to grip the smaller blond’s wrist, forcing him to drop the Beretta, before capturing his other hand as well and kicking the gun away across the concrete. To his surprise, Tino was shaking and didn’t even try to struggle. 

“Listen, I-… I fucked up, okay? I really fucked everything and I guess everybody is entitled to throw that in my face, because I fucking betrayed _everyone_! I just… I took advantage of your trust, but I also screwed my mission because I fell in love with you, and that really wasn’t part of the plan!”

“You wha-“

“I love you, Tino, and I’m not gonna get you arrested, I swear!”

The Finn stared at him with eyes widened, as if he were a madman and Berwald suspected he must have looked like one, making just about zero sense. “You’re… fucking crazy! What the fucking are you even saying?!” The detective opened his mouth to reply, but he cut him off. “The police know about me, don’t they?!” he pointed, shaking his head. “That’s bad enough, and you say-… what the fuck _are_ you saying?! That you’ll screw them? That you’ll find a way around it, just to keep me out of it? Because you fucking _love me_?!”

He really hadn’t thought it through this far, actually, but now that it had been spelled out, yeah, that was what he wanted to do, what he _had_ to do – find a way around it.

“I do _fucking love you_! Please, just don’t throw away what we had-”

“WHAT WE HAD WAS A FUCKING LIE!”

“Tino, please,” he said, his voice a tad quieter than before and his grip tightening. “I do love you, believe it or not. Please, just trust me. I’ll find a way, I promise you, you’re not going back to prison! Please, Tino, just… just don’t give up on me!” he begged, finally releasing the other.

Tino instantly pulled away, sniffing and pressing the heels of his palms into his eye sockets. He looked awfully young and vulnerable all the sudden – no, he _was_ young and far less tough than he was pretending to be and Berwald had hurt him, badly, this much was obvious and the thought was breaking the Swede’s heart. A loud sob escaped him when the detective’s arms wrapped around him tightly and his nose was pressed in the crook of Berwald’s neck, the other’s lips pressed against his temple.

“Please don’t give up on me, please… please…” Berwald repeated like a man drowning. “I love you, I’m going to take care of you, I swear! Listen,” he pleaded, cupping the smaller blond’s face with both hands. “Just… I’m really not asking you to put yourself in danger in any way, okay? But just give me a chance to fix this up! And if I don’t, at least I swear not to lead them to you. I-I can’t promise anything for the Russians, but-”

Tino was still sniffing a bit when he pulled away again, but he fixed his boyfriend with a calm glare. “Fuck the Russians,” he stated with a frightening lack of hesitation. “Actually, I could give a shout right now and they’d be on your back in a second, you know? But I’ll let you go,” he shook his head, as if disbelieving his own words.“And I hope you don’t fuck this up… because if you do, I will find you. I will find you and then I will really kill you.”

* * *

 

“Well, I’d say _some_ of the work is done, wouldn’t go as far as saying that most of the work is done,” Kohler observed, sitting on the edge of the Swede’s desk and offering his exhausted co-worker a wry smile. “I still find it hard to believe how badly the shit blew up with that Italian fucker, he fucking went all out! But now there’s still the matter of your commie ‘friends’ and of your ‘employer’… Now why do I feel you won’t be getting an year-end bonus?”

Berwald flinched imperceptibly. He knew he should have appreciated his friend’s attempt at lifting his mood, but could not muster as much as a nod in return, remaining in the same slumped position over his desk. He was painfully aware of having to do _something_ , but upon coming back at the precinct – and it fucking felt like he’d last set foot in here a century ago – some clarity had returned to his hot head, revealing the very slim chances of success in what he’d planned.

Actually… _planned_ was a big word, he hadn’t really planned anything, nor had he any idea on how to go about doing it. And there were a lot of implications to consider, too. To begin with, he’d had to give Kohler and the Chief Inspector the current location of the Russians – because he couldn’t just make something up only for it to prove completely fake later on – but he had told them the gang was leaving, having not mentioned where they were headed next, so there was no point… Well, this had been one big gamble, because he’d indeed heard Ivan saying he didn’t want to stay at the apartment more than it was necessary, but only sheer luck had made them actually leave before the police got there.  Things had only been half-solved though, because what if Ivan had caught wind of it and he was suspecting him and, _in extenso_ , Tino?! Getting Tino in trouble with Ivan was _much worse_ than getting him arrested!

To his luck, he really was clueless as to where the Russians could have been headed next, what other safe houses they had, or what Tino’s plans were, if any, so there was nothing more he could have divulged, willingly or unwillingly (because at this point it was really hard to concentrate). But here a lie had needed to be slipped in – namely that Tino had lost his phone during the battle and it was no point trying to trace it and, on that ground, he’d not given Kohler the Finn’s number at all. So, one could say he’d momentarily helped Tino disappear – although the police already had his name and picture, which made it really not much, it didn’t mean he couldn’t be found and grabbed really fast…

Berwald sighed tiredly, standing without a word, dragging his feet into the office kitchenette and absently fumbling with the coffee machine. The thought of losing Tino was burning a hole in his chest, making it feel hollow, the only thing to fill it in turn being anger at himself for his own helplessness. Because either way, he would have to do something – next, his work would no doubt entail helping apprehend Ivan’s gang and he’d have to put some real effort into it, that or have his reluctance noted and give rise to suspicion. 

The other option was to go blindly with a rumor and risk _everything_.

More specifically, the other option was officer Feliks Lukasiewicz, someone unofficially but largely thought of being dirty, a man who had a solution for almost any ‘problem’, as some whispered around corners. Berwald had never spoken to the Pole, he didn’t closely know anyone who had been helped by him either, so taking this option basically meant to throw himself in headfirst into something extremely uncertain, with no plan to suggest and no money to pay for the other’s services, on top of it.

* * *

 

After tormenting himself for two days, during which he barely managed to function normally, the Swede finally went to see officer Lukasiewicz. He caught the blond Pole alone during a cigarette break in the precinct’s back yard and gave the man a long, appraising glance before deciding to approach him – despite his youth, among other things Feliks had a lot of experience with undercover operations and the fancy, sort of androgynous air lingered with him even when he was in uniform, like now. It didn’t exactly inspire much trust, but Berwald steeled himself in the thought that if someone knew the ropes, it must have been Lukasiewicz.

Awkwardly stuffing his hands in his pockets, the detective borrowed a smoke from the other (even if he hadn’t had one in years) and began to talk, in a calm, even voice, trying to keep any personal emotion out of it, making it look like everything it wasn’t – strictly business. He knew that anything else would have tipped Feliks off as this being a dangerous bullshit and that he for one couldn’t be trusted (not that there was any guarantee that the Pole was going to work with him on this anyway).

“So, like, when’d you change your mind?” Feliks asked thoughtfully, throwing away the cigarette butt after carefully and patiently listening to the other’s account.

“…uh, what?”

“Like, when did you decide that he was worth getting out of the scheme, that whatever this guy’s got for you was worth the trouble, I mean. Because it looks like it was pretty late down the road…”

Well, that was a valid point, it did look that way. Still, he could not explain it to Lukasiewicz.

“Er… you’re right, I guess it was late and I do realize that what I’m asking now is no easy feat. I already-…” He was about to say ‘made mistakes’, but he was only doing his job at that point and the Chief Inspector had to be given information. “But it wasn’t like I could have decided on this right off the bat, I had to get to know the guy and see if he could be trusted, at least to a reasonable extent. Look, what I’m really counting on here is the fact that he was never a primary target in this mission. The kid even has a clean record here in the States, he did say he’d done some time back in Finland but I don’t know if he was eighteen at the time and anyway, as of right now his name doesn’t show anywhere.”

The Pole nodded slowly. “Could be that it’s like totally not his real name, that’s why it doesn’t show. He could have purchased a ‘full-package’ fake identity for emigration purposes and all that shit.”

“But that’s a plus, no? I mean if that were the case.”

“Not necessarily, no. If, like, you do some shit under a fake identity and then you disappear and go back to who you really are, that’s a plus because the police are looking for a different person to begin with, even if the advantage can only turn out to be temporary. But if you do some shit under a fake identity and then you continue to use that fake identity because pretty much all your established shit is linked to it, like credit cards, social security, job, various contracts, then you haven’t like done anything and it’s as good as having used your real name.”

Well, that was a problem and Berwald didn’t know what was Tino’s exact situation. Probably the second one though, because his whole business set-up was quite complex and not a one-off thing either…

“Anyway, I’m trying to work on that,” he went on. “That he’s not a main target. The Russians are, because they were a part of the fucking war from last week and even if we don’t have a clue as to what their business is, their arsenal alone was quite impressive and they had a small army themselves. It’s true that they lost most of their men in the conflict and the police confiscated all the stuff they’d left behind, but given the proper resources they can regroup and they are dangerous.”

“Yeah, and like, your kid is totally their weapons provider, or at least he was until he had to leave his business behind and, as far as you know, Vargas grabbed his stuff. But still, from _our_ point of view, he’s just as much a liability as they are, if not bigger, since he must have had other clients aside from Vargas and the Russians, which in itself is enough to bury him,” Feliks pointed, tucking a long golden strand behind his ear.

Berwald sighed, arms crossed now and scowling at his shoes. “So you’re saying it’s hopeless.”

Lukasiewicz shrugged, fishing out another cigarette. “Not _entirely_ hopeless, but like you said, no easy feat. I might have one idea… Look, you said the kid is young, so maybe you could work out something like… you know, the weapon dealership wasn’t really _his_ business and he was just a front, someone else’s agent. Not that it’s not bad enough, but it’s infinitely _less bad_ than someone pulling all the strings and having all the necessary connects.” He paused, gracing the Swede with a meaningful glance. “What I’m saying is like totally give the Chief Inspector another gun dealer – a _real_ gun dealer obviously – and your kid might not be of so much interest anymore and you can help him disappear more effectively.”

“Er… I guess that could work, but-”

“My friend, you will like totally have to do the job yourself, I can only give you some ideas,” the long-haired blond interrupted. “As well as the number of _someone_ who might be able to help you with this, if you can work out an agreement.” Saying that, the officer pulled the phone out of his back pocket and sent Berwald a text message with a telephone number.

Then he walked back inside, leaving the Swede to ponder on just how smooth and foolproof his operating policy was. No doubt, this ‘helping person’ could not be traced back to him and Feliks’s ‘consulting fee’ must have been included in whatever this supposedly unrelated person was going to charge. The fucker…

Absently, Berwald swiped his thumb over the locked screen of his own phone, opening the Pole’s message. And then he flinched, nearly dropping the device – the number in the message was Arthur Kirkland’s.

**_To be continued_ **

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	11. How about someone else

**How about someone else**

A/N – Hello everyone! Guess what, we have arrived at the final chapter of this fucked-up tale of organized crime and illicit romance. You might think this is being cut short, but my intention has been from the very start to make this short and striking ;) I don’t know to what extent it really is striking, but I’ve done my best. I want to thank you guys so much for the support you’ve given this fic, it really means a lot to me! That being said, enjoy ;)

_Tsvetan Borisov – Bulgaria_

* * *

 

“Tino?”

Hood pulled low over his forehead, Berwald leaned against a lamp post across from the indicated diner. It was still early, almost half an hour left until the established time, but he was surveilling the area beforehand. Did he expect any nasty surprises? That was an understatement.

“ _Yes_?” the familiar voice he was already missing – badly – came from the other end of the line.

“H-How are you? Is everything okay?” What could he even ask that the Finn wouldn’t find suspicious? Or maybe this phone call in itself was suspicious? Berwald didn’t know, but he just needed to hear his boyfriend’s voice before he delved straight into the stupidest and very likely most dangerous thing he’d ever done.

_“Uh… yeah, I’m fine, I guess. Completely broke and with the police after my ass, but otherwise okay. You?”_

The Swede bit his lip, clutching the phone and pressing it closer to his ear. There was an almost palpable tension in the other’s voice that made him fearful. “I actually wanted to say that I might be able to get some help and-… The only thing I’m slightly worried about is that the inside person who’s agreed to help me gave me Arthur’s Kirkland’s number…”

“ _Oh?_ ” Tino asked non-committal.

“It _was_ Kirkland who told you I am a cop, wasn’t it?” The other didn’t answer right away and Berwald went on before he could. It had been a mistake to bring this up, damn. “What I mean to say, do you think I can trust him? Do you think he’ll want to help me after-…” Fuck, stop stirring the shit! “I mean help me get the police off your back?”

“ _You’re saying it as if it were possible_ ,” the gun dealer observed coldly, pretty much failing to keep the hurt from his tone.

“It is! It really fucking is! All I need to do is prove you were actually working for someone else! That you weren’t the _actual_ gun-dealer, that you were a front for someone else!”

A sigh. _“… but that’s not true, Berwald. There is no one else I’m working for, or with for that matter.”_

 _“_ I know, but I’m hoping that the Magic Club might be able to help us with this! We need another gun dealer we can frame, link them to Vargas and the Russians, or maybe there’s no need for that, just link them to you. My guy said they could do that, Arthur could do that… if he doesn’t kill me first. Because as things are, he’s got no reason to trust me.” And Tino had no reason to trust him either…

_“Ber, you do realize that I can’t do anything to guarantee your protection, right? But I think that if Arthur had wanted to do you in, he would have taken care of it the moment he’d found out.”_

“Maybe he didn’t because he thought you would-”

God, how had he not thought of this before?! Kirkland knew the truth and he could expose Tino to the Russians, if he hadn’t already! Was Tino really okay?! What if Ivan was listening to his every word now, a gun held to his boyfriend’s head?! Panic gripped him and suddenly he couldn’t think straight.

 _“No one wants to kill a cop unless there is no other solution,”_ Tino told him. _“Not even the Magic Club. I don’t know about your inside guy though, he stands to lose everything if you suddenly decide to expose him.”_

Berwald hunched against the lamp post, staring at his boots. “I already took that risk when I went to talk to him in the first place and… it doesn’t really matter. But Tino… just tell me that you’re safe.”

_“Berwald, I’m not going to tell you where I am. But I am safe, at least for now.”_

“I love you.”

* * *

 

Some five minutes before the established time, the Swede walked into the diner and sat down absently at one of the tables with cheap red faux leather seats, ordering a black coffee. What if Kirkland wasn’t even planning on showing up? It was a little past lunch-time and there were quite a few people inside too, not the shady spot the Magic Club would have chosen if they’d had any foul intentions.  Or maybe they didn’t even need a shady spot? Tino had told him that Arthur had executed a gang member in the middle of the street, in broad daylight…

“Hey, Berwald,” the eccentric Englishman greeted, slipping smoothly into the seat across from the detective, followed by Alin who plopped lazily next to him, resting his elbows on the table.

Most unfortunately, the creepy Norwegian named Bondevik who never spoke but probably ate souls for breakfast sat down right next to Berwald, observing him intently.

“You don’t look too good, mate,” Arthur pointed without irony. “Things getting stressful lately?”

The Swede took a deep breath and straightened his back, despite Bondevik’s unnerving stare. “Look, like I said on the phone, I need your help to keep Tino out of prison and Feliks told me you can make things happen,” he stated firmly (or at least he hoped it had sounded that way).

“’Make things happen’, wow, we’re flattered,” Alin laughed. “But speaking of happening, this is one thing I really didn’t think would happen!”

“You mean-”

“I mean you risking everything for little Tino. I think it’s incredible.”

“Incredibly stupid,” Bondevik observed, the unexpected sound of his voice nearly making Berwald flinch. It was every bit as sinister as the man himself, the unreal tone of an evil fairy.

“Love is not stupid, you troll!” the Romanian scowled at him, plucking the thin menu from his hands forcefully.

The smiling waitress who had served the detective earlier returned to their table to take the newcomers’ order and the three ordered various cringe-worthy flavors of milkshake.

“Love’s not stupid when it’s really love and not some bullshit,” Arthur agreed, his smile disappearing. “So, mate, you said you had an idea on how to go about fixing Tino’s problem?”

Berwald was still tense like a bow, uncertain if he was out of the woods yet, but he leaned forward over the table struggling to appear determined and confident. “Look, Arthur, before we talk of this, I must ask you something first. I want to know if Tino is safe right now.”

The green-eyed blond tilted his head, genuinely surprised. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t he be?”

“I mean… Ivan and the others didn’t find my leaving suspicious or anything?”

The other shrugged. “They weren’t planning on sticking together anyway, now that the Italians have been dealt with. Tino left shortly after you, he told Ivan you were going ahead to see if there was anything left back at his shop. Which was zilch, by the way.” He sighed. “You didn’t think I’d get Tino into shit by telling Ivan your true business, whatever it was, did you?”

Berwald cleared his throat, pushing his glasses up his nose. He’d gone down all avenues in his mind, if he were completely honest. “Actually, Feliks had an idea and I believe it might work. If I was able to find another gun dealer and prove that Tino was only a front for his business, then the focus would be shifted off him and then I could get him off radar completely, in time. But I need a ‘legit’ gun dealer for this, someone who’s got all the necessary connects to bring in the guns and also a solidly established network of clients.”

Arthur nodded thoughtfully, bushy eyebrows rising as he pondered, in a manner which made the Swede hopeful.

“That might actually work,” Bondevik stated, leaning forward on his elbows in turn, this time not to creep Berwald out (although the man’s vibe alone was enough to accomplish that) but to stare intently at the Romanian. “We might even know just the man for the job. Don’t we, Alin?”

“Ah, yes,” the Englishman agreed. “Lukas is right, we do know someone who kind of fits the description! None other than your Bulgarian friend, Boris-… Boris-ov?”

“Tsvetan Borisov,” the Norwegian supplied with precision.

“Borisov is a complete fucktard, remember? That’s why we refused to work with him…” Alin looked uncomfortable now for some reason, shoulders sagging slightly as he seemed to withdraw into the backrest.

Bondevik smiled a tiny, almost imperceptible, icy smirk. “He does the job though… And if I remember correctly we refused to work with him because he broke your heart,” he snorted lightly, smirk widening. “Think about it, Alin, this is a great opportunity to fuck him back real good…”

“Hey, hey, hey! This isn’t about _fucking anyone back_ , it’s about helping Tino!” Arthur intervened. “Alin, we think he fits the profile and he could be saddled with this. But the question is, is he worth screwing? Or better said, worth not screwing? I mean, would that impact us negatively? Is he of any use to us right now?”

“No. Of use he really isn’t. Fuck him for all I care,” the Romanian shrugged eventually.

“Good, then it’s settled.”

* * *

 

Tsvetan Borisov turned out to be an unexpectedly good catch – his gun dealing business was actually quite significant and he’d sold to the Italians as well at some point, even if they’d not exactly been satisfied with the delivered goods and had decided to switch to a different supplier - namely Tino - later on. Feliks’ and the Magic Club’s effectiveness and efficiency in helping ‘wrap up’ Lovino and Feliciano Vargas’ case was quite frightening, if Berwald was completely honest. Still, they got the job done and once Borisov and the Italian brothers were convicted, the case was no longer in the ‘spotlight’.  For now, the Chief Inspector had to settle for what they’d gotten, especially because it seemed that Ivan Braginski and the two girls had vanished off the face of the earth. Also, since their crew had been decimated in the recent war, there was no one left to provide any information on their business and the police didn’t have anything on them aside from the confrontation and the confiscated remnants of what had been an impressive arsenal. 

But by far the best thing of all was that the Magic Club had agreed to help him free of charge - out of friendship for Tino – and it was a blessing really because the Swede couldn’t have possibly afforded what he could only assume was normally a substantial fee for such a work.

Now only one thing remained painfully uncertain – his relationship with Tino.

There was absolutely no guarantee that even under these circumstances the Finn was going to accept to see him again, let alone resume their romance. Berwald had hurt him and betrayed his trust, there was no question about it, and Tino had made it very clear that he didn’t take these things well.

Still, against all odds, two months later Tino finally accepted to meet Berwald.

* * *

 

He was rather fearful, not daring to hope anything.

On the phone Tino’s voice had still been quite cold and the gun dealer had refused to give him any information about where he was staying and his current plans (not that Berwald had actually dared to ask either). He’d also been the one to pick the meeting place and the setting wasn’t encouraging either. Maybe Tino had only waited for the detective to do the job and get him off the hook and now wanted to kill him anyway, for the sake of upholding his personal standards and against all logic and reason Berwald could neither blame him nor heed the silent warning in his head and stay away. He wanted to be with Tino again, he _needed_ him, it was a visceral want he simply could not fight.

He was going to meet his fate, whatever that was, the Swede decided as he climbed the rusty stairs leading to the abandoned building’s rooftop. He hadn’t even taken a gun with him this time. His hand shook slightly on the doorknob as the door leading to the rooftop swung open with a tired creak, revealing the sight of Tino perched up on a small container with his back to the exit. The Finn sat hunched over, elbows in his lap and head hung low and he flinched visibly at the sound of Berwald’s footsteps.

“Tino?”

The gun dealer finally raised his head and Berwald could see how bad the other looked – tired and worse for wear, the pallor of his childish face almost sickly. He blinked slowly and his lips twitched into an attempted smile for which he clearly lacked the energy.

“Baby, it’s over now. Everything is going to be alright, they’re not looking for you anymore!” the detective assured him, reaching out to wrap his arms around the smaller blond automatically. He held tightly, lips pressing a hurried kiss into Tino’s soft hair.

To his relief, Tino didn’t resist his embrace, didn’t reject his touch. His forehead rested against the Swede’s shoulder silently for a few moments, body limp, before he finally returned the embrace, tilting his face up and allowing Berwald to bring their mouths together. And again, it just felt so fucking _right_ that nothing else mattered and all efforts, all the danger, it had been all more than worth it! Tino pressed closer against his body, as if seeking his warmth, dainty fingers cupping the detective’s face and he was just so happy-

Suddenly, the door creaked open again behind them and the sight of Lukas Bondevik startled them both. The Norwegian was alone this time and his unexpected appearance obviously puzzled Tino as much as it did Berwald.

“Well, well, what do you know… Alin was right, this _is_ incredible,” the creepy blond stated, again smiling in that utterly disturbing fashion. “I honestly thought it was a joke, or some scheme to get your hands on Väinämöinen, but it looks like you’ve really gone rogue now, Oxenstierna… Is that what this is? Man, this chubby little guy who wears the ugliest fucking clothes in history bent over once when he was dead drunk and that was enough to turn you? Shit, you’re seriously lame…”

The detective turned brusquely, shocked, being met with the sight of Bondevik’s drawn gun, pointed at them.

“W-What are you doing?! What’s your-”

“My _problem_?” the Norwegian snorted, pulling out a police badge out of his back pocket with his free hand and holding it up demonstratively. “I would say it’s your problem actually!”

Berwald flinched painfully, refusing to believe this was happening, while behind him he heard the distinctive click of other guns being drawn, Tino’s twin Berettas now aimed at Bondevik in turn. He hadn’t even realized that Tino had them on him earlier.

“Do you think you can even move before I shoot you both?” Lukas wondered mockingly. “I’d really put the guns down if I were you…”

“Are you seriously going to try that with me?” the Finn asked calmly, tilting his head in challenge and gaze narrowing ever-so-slightly. His grip on the guns remained perfectly steady. “With the _Reaper_?”

The police officer scowled, ceasing to savor the moment. Now he was getting pissed off. “Are you somehow implying that this is a stalemate?”

“Tino, there’s no need to-” the Swede tried, getting in front of his boyfriend, but he was pushed aside, gently but firmly.

“No. Fire your gun and let’s see who dies first,” the smaller blond prompted Bondevik, in the same glacial tone. “Come on, you runway motherfucker!”

“So you wanted to get us both, is that it? You played this game because you wanted to get Tino too?” the detective asked, hoping to distract the Norwegian and prevent what could have very well been a disaster. But that made no sense though, because Bondevik had known Tino long before any of this and he could have delivered him (and his Magic Club colleagues too) into to the police’s hands long ago, it wasn’t as if he lacked evidence against any of them! What the hell had he been waiting for?!

The other snorted again. “Do you really take me for an idiot? Look, I don’t care what Arthur says, or Alin, they’re both kind of soft to be honest, but I don’t want to do this for free, okay? If they don’t want any money it’s their problem, but I do.”

“How much?”  the gun dealer asked innocently, but Berwald had a strong feeling it was only for conversation’s sake. None of them had any money as far as he knew.

“One hundred thousand dollars,” Lukas Bondevik stated. “Get them in one week or I will tell the Chief Inspector what your deal really is, Oxenstierna. What do you say, _Santa_? Do you want your boyfriend to get fucked with capital F?”

The Finn bit his bottom lip, smiling and shaking his head. “That’s what I thought. I can get you the money, sure, but how do I know you won’t keep asking for more? Because that’s how this shit works, isn’t it? So, why shouldn’t I just tell _your_ friends what’s the deal with _you_ and see how disappointed they’ll be?”

“Clearly, you could do that, but I’ve taken precautions – if _anything_ happens to me, the info will be sent to the police instantly.”

Tino sighed dramatically, lowering his guns. “Fuck. Okay, I’ll get the money for you until next week…”

The Norwegian grinned broadly. “You do that. I knew we could understand each other.” Saying that, he turned on his heels and went back through the door, not even bothering to close it fully in his wake.

“Oh, fuck! Tino, I don’t think we-”

“Lukas has been very naughty…” Tino concluded, shaking his head again as he tucked his guns away and pulled out his phone. “Well, Arthur will take care of this, don’t worry,” he added with a small, innocent smile.

**THE END**

A/N – So an open ending, ha! Who do you think won in the end? Also, Norway is the most beautiful Hetalian in my humble view, but he can be creepy af.

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